


Regrets: Idling

by Jassy



Series: Regrets [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 60,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9665258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jassy/pseuds/Jassy
Summary: Killing off Dead Fred did not, in fact, solve everything. Who knew?





	

May 18th, 2005

Sam looked around the lobby of Inks n’ Things. He noted the new print on the Wall of Fame, seeing that it wasn’t one of Tony’s. He saw the cover of that month’s gossip rag, which had Angelina Jolie smiling seductively, holding her son on her hip, while that day’s paper spoke of a ten car pile up with multiple fatalities.

The bell over the door jangled, discordant and louder than usual. Sam turned to look, seeing a pale, jittery boy come in. He was wild around the eyes, and his hands visibly shook as he reached out to press the ringer for service. Hyped up on something, and with the sweating and shaking, nothing good. 

Tony came out from the back, automatic smile on her face fading when she got a good look at the kid. He spoke, manner insistent although Sam couldn’t hear the words. Tony shook her head, edging backwards a little. The boy spoke again, hands waving as he grew angry, manner becoming somewhat threatening. Tony shook her head again, taking another step towards the door to the back. Before she could make good her escape, the kid pulled a .9 mm out of his waistband. Holding it to the side, like you saw in television, he pulled the trigger. He might have been holding it wrong, but it still did the job. Red blossomed on Tony’s chest as her body was propelled backwards, back connecting with the doorjamb. Her eyes were wide and shocked as she slid to the floor, and then they were just wide and blank. 

Sam sat upright, the smell of gunpowder and blood in his nose. “Ash. Wake up. We gotta go!” He scrambled out of the bed, accidentally jabbing an elbow into Ash’s gut as he did. While Ash sputtered awake, Sam searched out their scattered clothes, hopping a little to get his boxers and jeans on. “We have to go, Ash! Tony’s gonna die if we don’t, so get your ass in gear,” he snapped. 

“What the fuck, man?” Ash wheezed, hand pressed to his belly. “Have you lost your damned mind?”

“No, you idiot. I had a vision.” Sam swallowed, tasting bile. “I had a fucking vision, Ash. And if we don’t get moving, and get our asses to Chicago, Tony’s gonna die.” He slung Ash’s jeans at his head and his boots to the bed beside him. “Let’s get going.” Ash shut up and dressed, almost fast enough to satisfy him. Then they bugged out, not bothering with that whole ‘checking out’ thing.

“So,” Ash began, once they were in the van and speeding as fast as Sam could push the van towards Chicago. “This vision thing. You sure that’s what it was?”

“Yeah, I am.” In short, terse sentences, Sam described the dream. “So you can see,” he finished, “why I’m a little anxious to get there.”

“Sure, sure,” Ash agreed. “But here’s the thing. I thought the dreams and visions were all having to do with the yellow eyed demon? Uh, Dead Fred you called him? So if he’s really dead, then why are you having dreams again?”

“He’s dead,” Sam promised. “I was there. I’m positive of that. And I have no idea why I’m having visions again.”

“Didn’t they stop the first time after Dead Fred became dead?”

“Yes. But, dude, the thing is, is that at that point, I was the last of the psychic kids. His whacked out Mortal Kombat ended when I shot Jake.” He savored that memory for a moment, as he always did when he had cause to think of it. So much would be different if Jake hadn’t been such a pussy sell out. “So they might have stopped simply because there was no one left to have visions about. Maybe it wasn’t because we killed that fucker. I just don’t know.”

“Okay. But the reason they started was because of him. Because his plans were coming to a head. Right?”

“It seemed that way. But maybe it’s as simple as the length of time. Twenty-one and a half years ago, almost to the day, he put demon blood inside of me. Maybe that’s how long it needed to, I dunno, simmer, before it started to work.”

“Simmer? What, you’re a stew now?” Ash snickered, finding that far funnier than Sam thought he should. Ash’s laughter faded, replaced with a more serious demeanor. “Jesse...have you considered that maybe someone else stepped into his shoes? And activated the blood?”

“That’s...a truly frightening thought. A completely unknown entity stepping into Dead Fred’s shoes. Damn, I wish you hadn’t had it.” Sam took a hand off the steering wheel to rub the back of his neck. The big, end-of-the-world stuff was meant to be over with. He’d fixed it. 

“Jesus, would you stop freaking out?” Ash snapped, forcing his mind back to the outside world. “It was just a thought, and not one that’s based on any proof. Until we know what’s goin’ on, you don’t need to be gettin’ all doom ‘n gloom on me. Christ.”

Sam kept his mouth shut, not arguing with the well earned rebuke, but also not wanting to aggravate his partner any further. Ash was a grumpy bastard when he hadn’t had enough sleep.

They didn’t get to Chicago until late evening, with the sun already down. Jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, Sam navigated the busy streets with a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Beside him, Ash was very nearly as tense. A tension he somewhat soothed by checking and re-checking that his .45 was loaded and ready and his knives were in place. Sam didn’t know if he had any plans to use either gun or knives, considering their target was, technically, human. Or if the actions were simple reassurance and stress relief. For his part, a lot of Sam’s tension went out of him when they parked in front of Inks n Things and the place was neither crawling with cops or taped off with crime scene tape. It hadn’t happened yet, which let him breathe a little easier. He unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed the door. “I’m gonna go check inside. If he’s not in there right now, we’ll just stake the place out, stop him from ever getting in.”  
“You got it.”

With Ash keeping an eye on the street, Sam walked inside. Then started to swear, because the kid was in there. Angry, spit flying from his lips, demanding to have a swastika tattooed on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Tony began, hands coming up as she inched towards the doorway behind her. “We aren’t allowed to work on anyone we think might be intoxicated or otherwise not in their right mind. If you come back when you’re feeling better....”

“Fuck you, bitch! I’m the one payin’, you the one gotta do what I say.” 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Sam snapped, catching both their attention. With the hyped up kid facing him, Sam aggressively stepped into his space, forcing him to back up a step from sheer surprise. His hand dipped down and in, snatching the gun from his pants while he was still trying to figure out what was going on. Gun in hand, Sam stepped back and displayed the gun before thumbing the safety and tucking it into the back of his pants for safe keeping. “You’re done, asshole. Why don’t you just get the hell out of here, before we call the cops on your little bitch ass?”

“Fuck you, fucking fucker,” the kid spat. He pulled a knife from the pocket of his hoodie and lunged. Sam hadn’t been expecting that. Even so, he still blocked the lunge, catching the kid’s arm with one hand and twisting to drive his other elbow into his face. Blood spurted, scarlet drops landing on the floor, and Sam’s shoes, on the boy’s shirt as he howled. Sam offered a punch, which shut him up nicely.

“My god,” Tony breathed as Sam lowered the now unconscious boy to the floor. She came forward a couple of steps, and Sam slid the knife (a cheap switchblade, he was pretty sure he felt the blade wiggling, ready to fall out, Jesus) across the floor to her. “Jesse? What-what the hell just happened here?”

Busy rummaging for some ID, Sam didn’t look when he answered. “Well, you had a kid come in looking to get a tattoo who was so hopped up on something that you had to say no. Which pissed him off to the point that he was on the verge of shooting you. Ah, here we go.” Sam found a wallet, thin with a lack of money or credit cards, it nonetheless contained a driver’s license. One that told him that the boy really was a boy, barely seventeen. He looked up, head tilted to one side as he studied her. “I’m gonna hazard the guess that you’re twenty-two this year. Born in ‘83?”

“Yeah. So? What the hell does that have to do with anything? Jesse, there’s a tweaker bleeding on my floor! You stole a gun from him and a knife, and you knocked him out, and you didn’t even break a sweat. Or a nail,” she added, beginning to sound a little hysterical. “Why are you even here? You know to call ahead for an appointment.”

“I’m not here to get any ink.” Sam stood up and went to poke his head outside. A twitch of his eyebrow brought Ash inside. Ash took the situation in with a glance and ran a shaky hand through is hair. “Yeah man, we’re gonna have some work ahead of us. For now, though, think you could do something with this kid? Take him to a hospital or the police station or something?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m your bitch. Whatever you say, master Jesse.” Even as he snarked, Ash bent over to haul the boy up over his shoulders, staggering only slightly. He paused, then, eyes flicking towards Tony. “Be gentle, dude. Not exactly something a person can accept easily.”

“I know. Go on, and be careful. If he wakes up while you’re driving....”

Ash gave him an affronted look. “What, you think I’m dumb enough to drive with an unrestrained tweaker? Whatever, man.” Sam opened the door with a mocking little flourish to allow him to leave. Nose tilted up, Ash sauntered out as best he could while carrying an unconscious seventeen year old boy on a bad trip over his shoulder. 

With the kid taken care of, Sam turned to Tony. Wild-eyed, wringing her hands Tony, pale enough that the stylized ivy framing her face and down her neck stood out more vividly than ever. He noted a couple other things as well, like the fact that her hair was lank and dull, clothes clean but wrinkled, and her lips thin and chapped. Signs that something was really, really bothering her, stressing her out, and had been for a while. “C’mon, can you leave? We can go get coffee or something, and I’ll explain everything.”

Her eyes, previously focused on the blood drops standing out starkly on the floor, snapped to his face. “Explain everything?” She shook her head, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “No. No, there’s really nothing to explain, Jesse. I mean, that boy was on something and armed, and you came in just in time to keep him from hurting me. It’s all pretty straightforward, I’d say.”

“Except for the part where I showed up because I dreamed this. I dreamed him coming in here, being refused service by you–twice–and then shooting you,” Sam said gently. She snorted, color beginning to come back into her face. “I woke Ash out of a sound sleep, which he hates, by the way, you have no idea, and made him come with me. We drove all day, speeding, and were almost too late. But the dream was real. And so is whatever’s going on with you.”

“What the hell do you mean? There’s nothing going on with me,” Tony snapped, arms crossing over her chest. 

“Yes, there is. You’ve developed a new ability. I don’t know what,” he admitted. “But it’s something that should be impossible. Nothing that could happen in the real world, and you think you must be losing your mind, imagining things. You’re writing off the incidents of it as lack of sleep, or stress. Hell, maybe bad burritos. But it’s real, Tony. And if you don’t let me help, I’m pretty sure something very bad is gonna happen to you because of it. I really don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Will you listen?” Tony bit her lip, shifted, uncrossed and recrossed her arms, and nodded.

Hours later, Ash picked him up outside the long-closed Inks ‘n Things. They waited for Tony to get on her motorcycle and head out for home before Ash put the van in motion again. “I’m guessing that she’s another psychic kid. And you’ve been teaching her about the psychics and the demons.”

“Yeah. At least she was open minded enough to listen. Plus, the whole pyrokinetic thing? Had her really stressed.” The van swerved, horns blared, and Ash cursed as he wrestled the unwieldy vehicle back under control. When they were back in their own lane, Ash threw him a furious little glare, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “What?”

“Pyrokinetic? She controls fucking fire?!”

“Yeah. She’s almost burned her apartment down a couple times. Hell, Ash. She said she’s sneezed and created mini fireballs. She’s been freaking. She was actually relieved to find out that she hasn’t been hallucinating, and hasn’t suddenly developed an evil alternate personality that was setting fire to her home when she wasn’t looking. She was thinking of checking herself into a mental hospital.”

“Damn, that’s rough. She alright now?”

“Better,” Sam assured him softly. “She’s better. At least until it hits her that some demon made her drink its blood when she was a baby for the purpose of some evil, unknown future plan.”

“I take it you didn’t mention the whole, uh, time travel thing?”

“Nope. And I’m not planning on it. Not if I can help it, anyway.” 

“Okay, man. Just asking. Anyway, that’s a pretty rough gift to have, I guess. But useful. I mean, think about it. Never having to worry about losing your lighter again?”

“Oh sure. On the down side, though? Getting a cold and having to worry that you’ll barbecue anyone nearby if you sneeze or cough,” Sam drawled. Ash cocked his head, then nodded agreement. “Which is why, uh, I sort of agreed to hang out here for a bit. To help her practice and start to get a handle on it.”

“Oh yeah? And what about the job, Jesse? Remember? The one we were workin’ when your dream hit? The one where people are dyin?” Ash jerked the van into a motel lot and slammed it into park. “I get that you wanna help her. I do. I wanna help her too. But we’re partners, Jesse, and you can’t just make decisions like that without asking me.”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, staring at his knees. “I know. I’m not even sure how the hell it happened, honestly. I remember sayin’ we had to finish something up, and then bam. There I was agreeing to put that off for a little.”

“Pushover.” Ash sighed, hand on the door. “Okay. Just...man, try to stick to your guns a little better.”

“She cried, man. Like, with tears.” Sam waved a hand vaguely. “I don’t do well with tears.”

“Obviously.” Shaking his head, Ash hopped out, waiting impatiently for Sam to realize that they already had a room and follow. Sam was far more tired than Ash was, but he was also somewhat wired. None of this was just...leftovers. His dreams, Tony’s fire, it wasn’t happening just because of the blood. He could feel it, that something was starting. Just like before. And just like before, he had no idea what was going on. The yellow eyed demon was dead and gone, and so the war that he’d wanted to start couldn’t be happening. Could it? Had another demon taken over his plans, and if so, how closely would those plans match? Were there, even now, psychic kids trapped in a haunted, abandoned town and being made to kill each other? They would have to go and check that out as soon as possible. And maybe leave some weapons or something stashed around town, just in case. 

Ash, naked as the day he was born, suddenly straddled his hips, effectively derailing his somewhat frantic train of thought. Sam automatically clutched at his hips, fingers digging into the soft, surprisingly silky skin. He was always surprised, no matter how often he and Ash fucked, at how smooth Ash’s skin was. Like a baby’s, almost. “Something you want?” he murmured, voice gone husky.

“Damn right there is. I want your attention focused on me. Forget the rest of it for now, Jesse. Think you can manage that?” Ash’s hands got busy, stripping Sam from his clothes with his very willing assistance.

“I dunno. I’m thinking that’s up to you. Think you can distract me?” he challenged, lifting his hips to allow his jeans to be slid down and off his legs. His dick was half hard already, and the heated gaze Ash turned on him only got him hotter.

“Oh, bitch. You are going down,” Ash promised, crouching over Sam, erection leaving damp trails over his belly. 

Sam threaded his fingers through his friend’s hair, pulling him in for a slow, wet kiss, breaking it with a small nip to Ash’s bottom lip. “You first,” he muttered, using his grip to guide Ash towards his groin. A wicked chuckle was his only answer.

When he woke a few hours later, it was mid-morning and Ash was getting dressed at the foot of the bed. Sam pushed up on his elbows, yawning hard enough to crack his jaw. “Whrygn?” 

“Ghost? Killing men every five days? Ring any bells for ya?” Ash shook his hair free of his shirt, then stomped into his boots. “Her bones still need to be found and salted and burned. Preferably before she kills again.” Guilt instantly swamped Sam. Of course the ghost had to be taken care of. How could he have forgotten? It was what they did, it was their job. Tony would just have to understand.... “Jesus, Jesse. Would you just stop already? I’ll take care of the ghost. You stay here and help our little pyro figure out how to control her powers. Before she starts a five alarm fire somewhere by sneezing.” Ash bent over him, hands framing his face. “You need to stop letting things get to you so much. You’re gonna end up with ulcers, and then you’ll smoke all our good shit just to settle your stomach, and there won’t be any left for me.” He planted a sloppy kiss on Sam’s lips, then broke away. Keys jangling in his hand, he went to the door. “I’ll be back in a couple days. Call if you need anything, alright?”

“Yeah man. Sure. Just be careful, alright? You might be a bitch, but you’re still, technically, a male. She might wanna kill you.”

Ash tossed a smirk over his shoulder as he opened the door. “You’re joking, of course. Women, ghost or not, adore me.” And then he was out the door, leaving Sam in the rumpled bed by himself. Moments later, the rumble of the van began, then grew more distant.

Shaking off the feeling of dread that wanted to weigh him down, Sam made himself get up and shower, get dressed and drink some coffee. His wallet contained enough money for a cab to Tony’s place, and from there, he could ride with her to someplace private and relatively non-flammable.

Tony knew the city pretty well, lucky for them. She already had a place in mind, which turned out to be an unused warehouse. Concrete floors and brick walls, it was just about perfect. Other than the old newspapers and other garbage that such places always accumulated, there was nothing inside that would go up if (when) she lost control.

The only problem that Sam could see was that he had no clue how to help her. He had visions, got strong vibes when there was something supernatural about a place. That was it. He was flying blind here, just as much as she was. Yet there she was, staring at him like he had all the answers. “Okay, so.” He looked around, desperately hoping for inspiration to strike. “What’s it feel like when it happens?”

“What does it ‘feel’ like?” Tony repeated incredulously.

More confidently now that the thought had occurred to him, Sam nodded. “Yeah. In your head, when you create fire, what does it feel like? I get migraines, right behind my eyes.”

Realizing that he was serious, she gave it some thought. “Huh. I guess I never paid much attention,” she mused. “Too busy freaking out.”

“I get that. But...I gotta be honest, Tony. I don’t know quite how to help you. The only thing that I can really think of is for you to find the ‘mental muscle’ that controls the fire and exercise it until it’s completely under your control.” It sounded stupid to his own ears, and he didn’t blame her for the odd face she made. He shrugged, though, since it really was all he had, and looked around for a reasonably clean place to sit.

“That’s your bright idea?! Exercise my mental fire muscle. Like I couldn’t have come up with that on my own.” Tony plopped to the floor, without even checking to see what she might be sitting on or in. “You’re not as helpful as I’d have thought, for a demon expert. Why are you here if you don’t know how this works?”

Sam threw her a sharp look. “Because you asked me. Plus, you cried,” he snapped. “I only came to Chicago to save your ass. I wasn’t counting on having to stay and help you figure out anything. So a little less lip might be nice.”

She held up her hands, backing down. “Okay, okay. I just thought...”

“I know a lot,” he interrupted. “But I’ve never even heard of a real pyrokinetic before. I have no idea how to help one train.” Frowning, he finally kicked aside a couple of old newspapers and folded himself down side-on to her. “So, unless you have a better idea? Find that place in your mind that the fire comes from.” Tony nodded, closing her eyes.

Sam may have basically pulled his advice out of his ass, but it ended up working. After a frustrating hour of nothing, Tony got fed up and pissed off, sniping at Sam. He sniped back, angering her further, and she ended up setting the newspapers he’d kicked out of his way earlier on fire. Since she’d been focused on fire all day, she was paying enough attention that time to notice the feel of it. That was all it took, and it was like the floodgates opened. Tony could, with minimal practice, create as much fire as she wanted—and couldn’t snuff it out. The only thing that saved their asses was the limited fuel available for the fire. Had they chosen a more flammable location, they’d have been screwed.

When the sun set, Sam called a halt to the practice. Not just because the constant flares of fireballs would be more noticeable after dark, but because Tony was starting to get a pinched look around her eyes. Tony, very graciously considering their earlier bickering, invited Sam back to her place for a drink. Almost desperate for a quiet drink, instead of the noisy one he’d get in your average Chicago bar, Sam agreed.

It had nothing to do with how empty the motel room was. Not one thing.

Back at Tony’s small but neat apartment, one drink became two, two turned into several, and before Sam fully realized what was going on, he had a tipsy Tony on his lap. “Er, Tony?” he questioned, hands hovering, unsure of where to put them.

“I’m scared, Jesse,” she confessed. “I’m so scared. I almost wish I really were crazy. I mean, demons? Demon blood? Why do that to us, what do they want?” She laid her head on his shoulder, sniffling but not yet full on crying.

Sam settled on patting her back gently. “Dunno. The one that did it t’us, he’s dead. He wanted a war, y’know, to destroy the world. But I dunno what’s goin’ on now. If s’all...” he waved his other hand vaguely, “leftovers, or if ‘nother demon took over. Ash’ll help me figure it out.”

“I’m still scared, Jesse,” she told him in a small voice.

Sam patted her back with a little more force. “I’ll do what I can. To keep you safe, I mean,” he promised.

Tony looked up. “You’re really a nice guy,” she said wonderingly, as if this were some kind of revelation. “You’re so grim always, so quiet. You seem like an asshole. But you aren’t.”

Not totally sure he hadn’t just been somehow insulted, all Sam could manage was a rather confused, “Uh, thanks?” in response.

Smiling now, Tony leaned up to kiss him, all soft lips and whiskey flavored tongue. Sam gave the situation serious thought for all of half a second before kissing right back. She was warm and soft, she smelled good, and he liked her. He couldn’t really ask for more than that.

When his nightmares woke him that night, they woke her as well. In her initial panic, she set the bed on fire. In the second wave of panic that followed, she finally figured out how to snuff the fire she created. Sam counted it a win, even with his missing eyebrows and her ruined comforter.

He woke again a few hours later when Tony got out of the bed. He continued to lay there while he listened to her shower, breathing in the scent of smoke and sex. His head hurt, his mouth tasted foul, he had to pee like nobody’s business...and he didn’t have his toothbrush or clean clothes with him. Worse, when Tony got out of the shower, she started slamming things. The door to the bathroom, then the one for the bedroom, then the bedroom door again, and then she started stomping around in her boots. Rather than continue to try to ignore his bladder and the day, Sam dragged himself from the singed bed and into the bathroom. He pissed, took a hot shower, then used a clean washcloth in place of a toothbrush. Feeling somewhat more human, he went in search of his clothes.

Tony helped with that search by throwing them at him as soon as he opened the bathroom door. Sam caught them, giving Tony a puzzled look. “Is there a reason you’re this pissed at me?”

“You used me, you shit,” she snarled. “And if you think I won’t be telling Ash about this, you’re out of your fucking mind!”

Sam stood there blinking for a few seconds. “I have no idea what to tell you. I have no idea what you’re even talking about. Used you? For what?”

“To cheat on him!”

“Oh. That. Well, see, Ash and I aren’t a couple, so it wasn’t cheating.” Sam started to pull on his clothes, foregoing his boxers rather than wear dirty. “He and I are friends and partners–hunting partners, not life partners–and fuck buddies. We aren’t in a committed relationship, Tony.” Her mouth worked soundlessly, clearly showing her shock. “And hey, thanks for thinking I’m a cheating asshole!” he added brightly. “Love that character reference.”

“Well, what was I supposed to think? The way you two are–you’re like lovers! And then last night....” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“Was initiated by you. You came and sat on my lap. You kissed me.” He yanked his shirt on, hearing threads snapping. He glared at her, hard enough that she took a step back, looking guilty. “Look. I get that you’re in a bad place right now. The whole demon blood thing, and the fire and learning that the supernatural is really real. And I even get that since I’m the one that told you about it all, that I make a very convenient target to lay the blame. But it isn’t actually my fault. I didn’t choose this for you. Hell, I didn’t choose this for myself. So don’t take your shit out on me. I got plenty of my own.”

“I–you’re right, of course. Although I really did think that you and Ash were, y’know, together. I’m sorry, Jesse. I should have known better.” She reached out and touched his arm, gently, like she was afraid of getting bitten. “I am afraid. I’d almost rather I were losing my mind.”

Sam finished dressing, shoes and socks, underwear stuffed in his back pocket. “It’s all good,” he said finally, jacket in hand. “Like I said, I get it. I’m thinking both our moods will improve when our hangovers do. I’m just gonna head back to our motel room, get some more sleep. You have my cell, right? In case anything happens?”

“Y-yeah. But what...”

“Nothing. I really doubt anything is gonna happen. But just in case.” Sam turned, ready to get out of there, then paused. She really did feel guilty. And he didn’t want to ruin their friendship, slight though it was. He turned back and dropped a light kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be back when I feel a little more human.” Tony smile uncertainly, Sam squeezed her fingers, and then he left.

This time, he didn’t have enough cash for a taxi, and so he was stuck taking a bus. He hated public transportation. All the people around him, each one a possible threat, a definite mystery. All of them so clueless, so completely helpless. And any one of them could turn suddenly, direct inky black eyes on him, and turn the bus/train/whatever into a bloodbath.

The strange looks he got over his jumpiness didn’t help.

The motel room almost seemed to echo when Sam stepped inside. He didn’t like to close the door behind himself, the unreasoning fear of getting swallowed by the hollow emptiness creeping up his spine. There was no reason to the fear, except maybe as a mere distraction from what was truly bothering him. What he was really afraid of. He’d lost everything the first time. He’d had to change things, hit the ‘reset’ button on his life in order for things to come out right. He knew that he didn’t have the strength for that a second time, if it were even possible, which she’d told him it wouldn’t be. If it was all starting again...he’d have to do it right the first time. There was no room for error, for hesitation or mistakes. There wouldn’t be a do over. And worse, he didn’t have anyone but Ash that he could go to, anyone but Ash who would help him. 

Sam crawled into the cold, empty bed, shivering and pulling the covers over his head. His cell rang, and it was the tone he’d set for Ash. Worried for all new reasons, Sam dug it out of his pocket and snapped it open. “Hello? Are you hurt?”

“Hi and no. A little faith might be nice,” Ash huffed. 

Sam relaxed a little into the lumpy mattress. “It’s not that I lack faith in you, Ash. You know that,” he chided. “I just worry.”

“My own mother hen. Christ, it’s enough to make me wanna drink.”

“Breathing makes you wanna drink. So how did it go? You found her bones, right?”

“Salted and toasted,” Ash confirmed. “Just gonna get some sleep before I drive back to get you. I’m more curious about how things are going at your end.”

“They...went. First, she figured out how to turn it on. On, but not off. We went back to her place, got a little drunk, had sex, and then I had a nightmare and scared her enough that she set the covers on fire.” Ash snorted on the other end, a wet, choking sort of noise that led Sam to think he’d been drinking. “On the bright side, since the covers were over us at the time, it was enough incentive for her to find the off switch.” He waited to let Ash finish clearing his airway before delivering the final piece of news. “And then she was pissed at me this morning for using her to cheat on you. Since, y’know, we’re committed life partners and shit.”

“No way! She seriously thought...”

“Yup. ‘Course, mostly she was still just afraid and taking it out on me, and the whole cheating thing was just an excuse.”

“Are we still talking to her?” Ash asked after he finished his second bout of coughing. 

“Yeah. We are. People have thought worse things about me. As soon as my headache goes away, I’ll probably go play cheerleader for her while she practices some more.”

“Well, you get some sleep then. And for god’s sake, take a fire extinguisher with you or something. Really not cool to hear you almost fried in bed.”

“And you call ME the mother hen.” Sam heard him laugh, and then the line went dead. He tucked his phone beneath his pillow, right beneath his ear, and closed his eyes.

Tony called him a few hours later, after a nap and a cup of coffee chased away the rest of his hangover. Sam had honestly thought he’d have to call her, that she’d be too embarrassed to make that move. Obviously, she had more in the way of guts than he’d given her credit for. He agreed to watch her practice more that day, and she agreed to come get him, and even after the sex and accusations of cheating, it wasn’t as awkward as he’d thought it might be. She dropped him off after hours of lighting things on fire and then snuffing the fire out, and even figuring out how to do fire balls. Sam was pretty sure that, in a few weeks, she’d be able to work fire like someone out of a cartoon.

Back at his motel, Sam climbed off the back of her motorcycle, discreetly trying to rub some feeling back into his hands. It was spring in the Windy City. What was she thinking, driving a motorcycle around this early in the year? “So look. Do you still have a copy of that symbol you did on the back of Ash’s neck?”

“Somewhere, yeah. Sure. Why?”

“It’s called a Devil’s Trap. And it’ll keep demons out of your head and body. They won’t be able to get inside your mind, or possess or influence you in any way with that inked into your skin.” He took her hand, squeezing her fingers seriously. “Please. It doesn’t matter where you put it, but get it done.” 

“You...really think it’s necessary?” she asked, biting her lip.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Alright. You call me, keep updated on what’s going on,” she ordered. “I don’t wanna be kept in the dark, wondering what’s coming.”

Lips quirking in an almost smile, he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Sure thing, Tony. And hey, you got my number. If I forget to call...”

“I’ll kick your lanky ass,” she promised. Throwing him a bright grin, she revved her cycle and took off. Sam let himself back in his room once she was out of sight and laid back down on the bed, energy sapped.

~

Sam didn’t look over when the door opened, and he didn’t bother to open his eyes when a shadow blocked the light filtering in through the curtains. The way his stomach unclenched for the first time in days told him who it was. “I wanna get your thoughts on something.”

The bed dipped with the warmth that appeared all along his side, and Ash started lapping delicately at his scars. “Oh yeah?” he murmured around his tongue.

“Yeah.” Sam slid his fingers into his partner’s hair, tilting his head to offer better access for the cat-quick laps to his skin. “I wanna go find the others. As many as I can.”

“How? Thought you only know of a few.”

“I do. But, uh, I think the witch that sent me back could help me find more.”

Ash sat up, completely breaking all physical contact. Sam was startled enough to open his eyes. “Dude. You sure you wanna mess with magic?”

“No,” Sam admitted freely. “But I am sure I don’t want to leave the others out there on their own with this. They don’t have a clue, and that makes them vulnerable. They all died the first time. I’d kinda maybe like to keep that from happening this time.”

“We don’t even know for sure that something’s really happening,” Ash pointed out. “It’s all just speculation on our part.”

“We know there’s the possibility. And either way, their abilities are waking up, and they’re probably freaking out.”

“Which makes them ripe for demonic possession or influence, regardless of any larger plan,” Ash finished on a sigh. “You’re right. We should try, at least.”

“Okay. But...not right away.” Sam reached up to pull Ash back down. Business could wait a little bit longer.

~

Darla Waters was sitting on her porch swing when they arrived. It being May, and fairly chilly, Sam could only conclude that she was waiting for them. Either that, or she was willing to freeze in order to give that impression to whoever might show up.

He and Ash got out of the van. Ash, oddly enough, kept himself half-tucked behind Sam. When Sam glanced back, he could see a hint of...not quite fear, but certainly apprehension. Which was sort of funny; Ash could and had faced down angry spirits and poltergeists without batting an eye. But a benevolent witch? “Ms. Waters,” he greeted, reaching the top step and nodding his head respectfully.

“Samuel.” He flinched, long unused to hearing his birth name. He could tell that she’d noticed, too, the way her eyes sharpened on him. “And Ashur. I’m pleased that you two are together. You make a good team.”

“We work at it,” Sam acknowledged, glancing at his partner. Ashur? That was different. Ash deliberately didn’t meet his eyes, and Sam silently let it go.

“Hmm. I’m going to hazard the guess that you’re here about the Rising.” She gestured at the wicker chairs that flanked her swing. Sam sat immediately, interest piqued, but Ash chose to stay standing at his side, like some mullet-headed, flannel wearing bodyguard. Darla gave him a thoroughly amused look before turning her attention fully on Sam.

“The Rising?” Sam prompted. He could hear the capital letter there, and that was almost never a good thing.

“Oh yes,” Darla hummed. “I know you’d hoped to prevent the war when you came back, Samuel. And in many ways you have made a very positive difference on the world. The destruction of the demon that killed your mother made things more difficult for demons. They fight amongst themselves a great deal, and many of them are so easily distracted by tormenting one or two individuals that they are unable to keep a larger plan in mind. Nevertheless, they still want the war. Still want the Gate opened.”

Sam sat back, head spinning. “But...but the war was meant to not happen. That bastard is dead, and he caused the war,” he protested.

“Certainly his long range planning helped, but ultimately, it was a human that brought it about.” She held up her hand when Sam went to protest more. “It’s the truth, Samuel. I have a very good memory, and your mind was wide open when you arrived four years ago. The boy, Jake. He opened the door. Without that action, all the plans in the world would have done the demon no good.”

“So what’s going on now? My visions have started again. And I know of another one of the psychic kids whose abilities have woken up. Something’s starting again. Is there another demon calling the shots?”

“There are many demons vying for control of the yellow-eyed demon’s power base. He was very strong. So strong, that however one may have trapped him, no exorcism in the world would have worked. Hallowed ground, holy water, all were useless against him. All the demons want the war, and they all want to be in charge, but not one of them is strong enough–yet–to gain real control over the others. But make no mistake, it will happen. And once the demons are focused on a common goal again? War will come.”

“Great. Just fuckin’ great.” Sam slumped, head in his hands. “After everything I went through, and it still wasn’t enough.” Ash put a hand on the back of his neck, squeezing just a little, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to lean into the contact. “How big of a war are we talking about?”

“Well, long as noone opens the Gate, nothing bigger than the one we’re having right now.” Sam’s head snapped up at her too casual tone. The bitch was smiling at him. “It’s good that you take things seriously, Samuel. But not so seriously, yes? Perspective.”

“Perspective my ass!” Sam started to rise, but the comforting grip turned restraining, and he obeyed it only with the greatest effort of will. Ash stepped in front of him, blocking his view and letting him calm down.

“That wasn’t funny,” Ash told her. “We appreciate the head’s up. It’s good to know that the demons haven’t given up on getting that Gate open, or on the psychic kids. But that was a shit way to do it.”

“I’m old. I’m allowed my little games,” she dismissed.

“Whatever. Look, we came here to find out if you know of a way that we can track the other marked kids. We wanna get to them, clue them in to what’s going on, help them figure out their powers, and hopefully protect them from demonic influence. Can you help us with that, no bullshit, or not?”

“Hmm. It’s a good idea. Those with the blood in them are a very strong source of power to whoever controls them. Samuel especially,” she added. Sam was sure she was smiling slyly at Ash, but he refused to look. If he did, he might well give in to the urge to shoot her. Neither he nor Ash gave her the satisfaction of asking the obvious question, and after a minute, she sighed and gave in. “In the original time line, the demon had you all killing each other off. As each of you died, your power was dispersed amongst all the others. The fewer of you that were alive, the stronger the survivors were. You were the last, Samuel. And coming back in time didn’t erase the power that you inherited. Alone, you equal the combined power of all the other children. I felt that, the moment your soul returned to your younger self. And so did all the demons. I’m certain they are all scouring the globe for you, my sweet. The one that controls you would win by default.”

“Nobody controls me,” he snarled, reaching up to push Ash out of the way. Ash sat on his lap, effectively holding him down.

“Would you please stop messing with him? Just tell us how we can track down the other kids.”

“Very well,” she sighed. “Samuel can do it on his own. He has very strong psychic abilities. If he were to stop resisting them, he would gain control of them. The visions that he has now, the death visions, are just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. The strongest, and most urgent.”

“Oh sure, and then I’ll also be able to control demons. I’m not loving that idea.” Sam tried to push Ash off his lap, but Ash dug his heels in, refusing to be moved. “There’s gotta be a better way. Say, one that doesn’t have me going over to the dark side? Just a thought.”

“Your abilities aren’t evil, you using them doesn’t make you evil. They are a tool, like a gun or knife. It’s your choices, as it always is, that determine whether you are good or evil. You choose to be good, you choose to help instead of hurt. Open yourself to what you can do, and you will be able to find the other children.” Sam managed to get his head craned around Ash’s body to see her staring hard at him. “They can’t touch your soul unless you let them. You need to get that through your head, boy. They can hurt you, they can kill you, but they can’t make you be anything that you don’t choose. Whatever they tell you to the contrary is a lie.”

“Yeah, you know what?” Ash shifted, blocking Sam’s view of her again. “You ain’t half so helpful as you try to act. I’ve read fortune cookies with better, wiser advice.” He stood up and reached back, snagging Sam’s arm without looking. “We’ll be going, now.” Sam allowed himself to be dragged back to the van, and very carefully didn’t look back at her. Ash shoved him into the van, skipping around to the driver’s side as fast as he could without actually running. He was clearly spooked, which Sam couldn’t blame him for. He knew the power that woman held, and the way she seemed to be getting off on jerking Sam’s chain....He was no longer confident that she was to be trusted. At all. With anything.

Of course, that didn’t mean she’d been lying. 

Ash threw the van into gear and peeled out of there, spinning dirt and gravel beneath the wheels. He kept shooting little glances Sam’s way until Sam reached over and lightly punched his arm. “Not my best idea, I guess. Thanks for not letting me try to strangle her. She’d have probably turned me into a goat or something.”

“You’re ornery enough for one.”

Sam watched the scenery blur past, not really trying to focus on it. “So what do you think? About what she said, I mean.”

“I think...we’ve got work to do.”

NOVEMBER 2ND, 2005

Sam settled himself in the middle of the bed, palms resting lightly on his knees. He’d gotten pretty good at this, even if he did say so himself. Once he’d really tried, it had been like Ava had said: the switches in his mind just flipped. He could see what and when he wanted, and the visions weren’t painful anymore. Sam now knew close to thirty people–all psychic kids–who he regularly kept in touch with. Their abilities varied, but in each case, the person had been freaking out. It had been surprisingly easy, most of the time, to convince them that he was telling the truth about himself, about the demons, about the supernatural in general. Part of that ease had to come from them having just been so grateful to have any kind of explanation. Regardless, it had made his job, his quest, just that smidge easier, and Sam wasn’t going to turn his nose up at that.

But he didn’t have the concentration he needed to let his mind seek out the next psychic. As much as he’d tried, Sam hadn’t been able to lose track of the date. It seemed like, no matter where he went, a calendar was staring him in the face. So while he tried to force his mind on his job, on finding the other kids, his mind had other ideas and wouldn’t let him stop thinking of Dean. Of his father, and mother, and Jess. And right back around to Dean. He wanted to see his brother so badly...

Sam felt the now familiar mental ‘click’ and he was, abruptly, somewhere not the motel room. He was standing behind his brother, in a dirty garage. He knew without actually seeing that there were other people nearby, mechanics working on other cars in the other bays. But right then, all he could see was Dean, bent over the engine of some kind of late model sedan. Dean straightened, one hand rubbing the small of his back, the gesture of a man twice his age. His cheeks were stubbled, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping, then. Not well. Not surprising, maybe, what with a baby in the house. 

Thinking of the baby made his mental vision swim. Rather than being in the garage with his brother, Sam now stood in a cheerful little room, with a crib along one wall, stuffed animals on a shelf above it. Sam refused to look, even with the bubbling coo that came from within the crib that he’d spent so many hours carving protections into. He couldn’t look. He’d given the kid all he could, all he had to give. Wasn’t that enough?

The door opened, drawing Sam’s attention away from the crib. Cassie, of course, looking just as tired as Dean. Good. At least she wasn’t making his brother do all the work. She went to fuss at the crib, making her own cooing noises back at the baby. Sam looked around the room, since the vision wasn’t letting him go, despite his desire to see something else. That happened, sometimes. He was still working on it.

Back to the little mother/son moment going on behind him, Sam faced the dresser. On top was a picture frame, heavy silver, that showed Dean and Cassie holding the baby and smiling stiltedly. Beside it was a small silver tray that held a miniature comb and brush set. And beside that was a clock, with each number replaced with a smiling clown face. Sam shuddered, and almost missed the fact that the time was at least fifteen minutes ahead. However long his visions seemed to last to him, in reality only a few seconds would go by. So this hadn’t happened yet. 

That fact made him frown. Most of the time, when he was scouting out other psychics, he managed to see them in real time, or in the past, when their abilities first woke up. Visions of the future had, so far, unfailingly shown him something bad. Death. 

Cassie walked through him to get at the dresser, removing a soft fleece sleeper. The shadows in the room became abruptly darker. Not just darker, but mobile. The inky blackness in the corners, where the lamplight and weak sunlight through the curtains couldn’t touch, started to swim. Cassie froze, half turned back towards the crib, animal instincts informing her that there was something not right. Evil, and hungry, and looking at her, and she knew she was no match for it. Sam could plainly see the indecision on her face, the way her eyes flitted around, from closet to crib to door to crib, wondering what to do. Sam knew that she had no idea what was scaring her. Not once did she look at the shadows creeping up on her, slowly taking on the form of a thing with claws and teeth. 

Sam flinched back when it struck. But such was the nature of his visions, he was unable to turn away or close his eyes. He was forced to watch as Cassie was shredded, blood and flesh and bone becoming impossibly small pieces all over the cheerful little nursery. The baby started to cry. Then there wasn’t enough of Cassie left that was big enough to shred, and the shadows swirled around the crib. Around it, but not touching it. In spite of the blood that desecrated it, the protections on the crib held, and the shadows weren’t able to get at the infant inside.

The motel room rushed back into Sam’s view, sending him lurching off the bed, pain blooming behind his eyes. “Ash! Ash, get the van packed fuckin’ yesterday!” He scrabbled at the table, nearly knocking the thing over in his haste, clutching at his cell. As Ash rushed out of the bathroom, swiftly zipping up his jeans, Sam jabbed at the buttons, calling up and dialing a number he’d programmed but never intended to call. Two rings, and Dean’s voice, thin and tinny, came through the small speaker. “Dean, shut up,” Sam panted harshly, stomping into his sneakers and snatching up his duffel. “There’s no time for questions or being pissed at me. Get home. Have a flare handy. A shadow demon, a daeva, is going to kill your wife in about fifteen minutes. Call her and make her get out of the house, somewhere in the open, in the light.”

“Sam?!”

“Yes, you idiot. Now do what I told you! I am not fucking around, here.” Sam hung up, not permitting Dean a chance to be shocked at him. Dean would snap into action with nothing else to distract him. “How far are we from Cape Girardeau?”

“About eight hours,” Ash told him, jerking open the door. He had his own duffel of clothes over his shoulder, plus a smaller one full of weapons. They’d only been checked into the room for a grand total of half an hour, tops. Nothing had been unpacked yet. They tossed the bags into the back, and then Sam climbed into the driver’s seat. He intended to cut the drive time down as much as humanly possible.

Ash had heard his call to Dean, knew what was going on, if not the precise details of what he’d seen. He knew enough to keep his mouth shut and let Sam drive, foot pressing the gas pedal very nearly to the floor. About two hours into the drive, Sam’s cell rang, and Ash took the wheel so Sam could answer. “Yeah?”

“Sammy.” Dean breathed into his ear, the sound wet and ragged. “She’s dead, Sammy.”

“Fuck!” The van swerved a little, thanks to Ash jumping at his shout, but it was quickly righted within their lane again. “Fuck, Dean. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. She just...didn’t take me seriously enough, I guess. But boy, the cops sure are.”

“The cops?” Sam demanded sharply. “Dean, what....”

“They think I killed her. They gave my son to her parents, and I’ve been booked on suspicion of murder.”

Sam took a deep breath, and then a second, letting them out slowly. “Okay. I’m just a few hours out. I want you to sit tight, and don’t say a word. Don’t talk, don’t do anything. I’ll get you out when I get there. Somehow.”

“Yeah. But first, you gotta go get Jason. What if that thing comes back? They have no clue how to protect him, Sam. You worry about him first.” For a moment, Sam went completely blank. He didn’t know a Jason, or why he’d be so important to Dean. Then, of course, he remembered: Jason was Dean’s son.

“Okay,” he managed to get out. “Okay, I’ll pick him up first, and then get you out. Don’t worry about it.” The phone beeped then, informing them that their five minutes was almost up. “Shut up, sit tight, and we’ll figure things out soon. I promise.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause your promises mean so much to you.” The phone went dead, cutting off any reply Sam might have made to that. Just as well, really. Dean just lost his wife in a very horrific manner; he was allowed to not be thinking clearly or fairly.

Sam let Ash keep hold of the wheel as he dialed another number. “Hey, Andy. How’s things going?”

“Who is this?” 

Sam snorted. “You don’t remember me? I’m crushed. I’d have thought you’d remember the guy that told you that you had demon blood inside of you.” 

There was a long, drawn out silence, during which Sam took the wheel back from Ash with one hand. He nodded at Ash’s laptop, indicating that Ash should get back to his search for demonic omens. Then: “Jesus Christ on a moped! Sam?!” Sam could hear a flurry of voices in the background, all of them demanding answers of Andy. Sam raised his voice to be sure Andy could hear him over the noise.

“Yeah, man. So how’s the mind control thing working for ya? Getting good at it yet?”

“How’d you...I mean, what are you talking about, Sam?”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Sam said shortly. “Now is not the time, Andy. I need you to get to Cape Girardeau, Missouri as fast as you can. My brother’s wife was ripped apart by a demon, and they arrested him for it. You’ll have all the time you want to bitch me out after I get my brother and his son out of that city and to safety. You got me?”

“Dean’s wife is dead? Shit, Sam, I....hey!” A flurry of sounds, and then Bobby was on the line.

“Sam Winchester, you have a lot of explaining to do! Where the hell are you?”

“On my way to Cape Girardeau. Where I need Andy to be.” In terse sentences, Sam outlined the situation. “I need Andy there–or Ansem, whichever–to tell the cops and the D.A. to drop all the charges.”

“And what good will that do? Why should they care what either of those boys has to say? Sam, you aren’t thinking....”

“Shut up, Bobby,” Sam ordered. He breathed for a couple seconds, very aware of the glances that Ash keeps tossing his way. “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t know? Their abilities kicked in a couple months ago. So’s Max’s. And not one of them told you?”

“Apparently not. How can you be sure...”

“I’m god damned psychic, Bobby! How the fuck do you think I know! Jesus, put Andy back on, I don’t have time for this shit.” More fumbling, and a whole lot of swearing, and Sam knew that Bobby was gonna have a lot to say about his attitude. But whatever, he had Andy back on the line. “You wanna tell me why you haven’t let Bobby know that your abilities–and your brother’s and Max’s–have all kicked in?”

“Um, not really.”

“Tough. You’re with Bobby so you can stay safe, you moron. He needs to know this shit. So you tell me why you’ve been keeping it from him.” Sam paused, but there was nothing forthcoming except some fairly guilty sounding breathing. “Have you been having dreams, Andy? Maybe of someone with oddly colored eyes, trying to convince you to do things?”

“What? No! Dude, we just figured he’d get all uptight. Um, y’know.”

“Uptight over what? Man, are you guys using your abilities to steal or something?” More guilty breathing. “I don’t give a flying fuck, and neither would Bobby! Now, get your ass to Cape Girardeau, Andy. I need you to put the whammy on a bunch of cops to get my brother out of jail. Think you can manage that?”

“Yeah, man. Sure. No problem. We’ll be there in...hey, how far away from Cape Girardeau are we?” Sam could hear a muffled reply that sounded like it came from Max. “Twelve hours, apparently.”

“Faster, if you can. And Andy?”

“Yeah?”

“Dude, bring your bong. I think you’ll get along great with my partner. I’ll call you to let you know where we’re staying.” Sam hung up and pressed his foot down a little more on the accelerator. “You getting anything?”

“Nope. There’s not a single demonic omen anywhere near Cape Girardeau. This might have been random, Jess.”

“It’s the second of November. My sixth month birthday. And my sister in law gets horribly murdered by a demon. You really think that’s random? Cassie was the only female of real importance to any one of the three of us, and now she’s dead. I don’t think that’s random, Ash. And I doubt it’s random that it was a daeva. Meg used a daeva to lure us to Chicago, trying to use us to get to our dad in the first timeline.”

“You think the Meg demon is behind this?”

Sam glanced at him. “Don’t you?” After a moment, Ash nodded reluctantly. “The problem being, of course, finding the bitch.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The rest of the drive was made in silence. Sam didn’t even turn on the radio. Ash didn’t have anything by the time they arrived, and Sam had the sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t going to find anything. If Meg really was making a play of some sort, they were just going to have to ride it out, and do their best to not die in the process. Meg the first time had been an incredible pain in the ass. This time, without her father’s plan to reign her in? Who knew what kind of trouble she’d be.

It was closing in on nine at night as Sam pulled up outside the Robinson’s house. There were still lights on, so he didn’t feel the slightest guilt in going up to the door and knocking. Mrs. Robinson answered, eyes red rimmed and swollen from her crying. She focused on his face, eyes going, as most people’s did, to the scars striping the left side. She shrank back slightly. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Robinson, you can. My name is Sam Winchester,” he started, the name feeling foreign on his tongue after so long. She started to close the door, face going hard and cold. Sam caught the wood, eyes narrowing, more than ready to ditch any nice and sympathetic routine. “I’m Dean’s brother,” he continued, just as though he weren’t forcibly holding open the door, “and as per his wishes, I’m here to take Jason until he can get this whole misunderstanding straightened out with the cops. I’m sorry for your loss, by the way. I can only imagine how you must feel right now. Dean loved her very much.”

“You vile boy! How dare you come here...after what your brother did to my Cassie? You think, for one moment, that I’ll allow any one of your misbegotten family to touch my grandson? Martin!” she called, trying even harder to shut the door. 

Sam glanced at Ash, who just shrugged at him. With a sigh, Sam leaned on the door, forcing the woman back a few steps. From somewhere close by, the sound of a baby’s wail rose up. His nephew. “Mrs. Robinson, I don’t particularly care what you think of me. Hell, there’s times I’d probably agree with you. But my brother didn’t kill your daughter. He’s no murderer. Now, until he can get out of jail, which shouldn’t be any later than tomorrow morning, he wants me to keep his son safe. Something that you just aren’t equipped to do.”

“Get out of my house! Martin! I’m calling the police! You can’t just come in here, trying to take my grandson, you-you...” She sputtered, apparently unable to come up with something appropriate to call him.

“Most people just call me an asshole and be done with it,” Sam told her helpfully. Martin Robinson, a man that Sam had never met, thanks to him having been dead, rounded the corner in his shirt sleeves, with a dish towel over one shoulder. His eyes were just as red and swollen as his wife’s. “Mr. Robinson. I suggest one of you get my nephew’s things together for me. Because I am taking him with me. I know what you think, and I don’t care. Dean didn’t hurt Cassie! He loved her, he loves his son, and the thing that did kill her might well come back for his little boy. And you can’t protect him.”  
Martin’s face twisted. “You’d be surprised what I can do, boy. Now get out of my house. I’m not letting that murderer, or any of his family, touch Jason. You and yours have done more than enough damage already.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look....”

“Get out! You won’t taint that boy, your brother won’t taint that boy! For all I know, you helped to kill my daughter!” 

“You wanna talk about murder?” Sam hissed, abruptly, blindingly angry. “Fine then. Let’s talk Cyrus Dorian.” He stood up to his full height, looming over Martin Robinson. “Let’s talk about how you beat him to death, and then you and your friends Clayton and Jimmy put him in his truck and rolled it into the swamp at the edge of his property. And then a young deputy named Harold Todd found out, and he kept it quiet. Let’s talk about that.” Both of them went a sickly grey color, falling back several steps from him. “Cyrus might have been a racist murderer himself,” Sam acknowledged. “But that still didn’t give you the right to beat him to death. You’re a murderer yourself, Marty. So if you think I’m letting you keep charge of my nephew, you’re fucking insane. He isn’t safe with you.”

“How can you know that? You can’t possibly know any of that,” Mrs. Robinson breathed, hand clutched to her throat. “Martin....”

“What do you want?” Martin asked, chin raised.

“I want to protect my nephew.”

“And I want to protect my grandson. Your brother killed my daughter. It isn’t the same thing at all. Cyrus Dorian was a monster. He’d murdered so many people, and he was trying to murder me. It was self defense.”

“You killed him. You didn’t just stop him, you didn’t just protect yourself, you killed him. That’s not self defense anymore, that’s murder. And I’ve told you, Dean didn’t kill Cassie.” Sam shook his head at them. “I’m done arguing. I’m taking my nephew, and there really isn’t anything you can do to stop me. If you try, you’ll both end up in prison. Along with the mayor, and your buddies Clayton and Jimmy. If you really want Jason to be safe, you’ll stop interfering.” He pushed past them, following the sound of the baby’s cry. They didn’t follow, too confused and afraid to be completely certain of their choice to keep Jason.

His first look at the baby, lying in a cheap, mass produced crib in an upstairs bedroom, took his breath away. He seemed so very tiny, little fists waving in the air with his distress. His skin was a coffee with cream color, and his head boasted a layer of wavy black hair. He had some of the longest eyelashes Sam had ever seen, and the lips that were opened on a wail were a perfect Cupid’s Bow. Just like Dean’s. Sam couldn’t stop staring for almost a full minute. Then he managed to shake himself out of his daze and look around. There was a bag full of baby things sitting beside the crib, and he could only hope it would actually contain everything he might need. He slung it over his shoulder and then, gingerly, gathered the baby up, fluffy fleece blanket spilling over his arms.

Jason went silent immediately, eyes opening to study this new person who was holding him. Sam looked back, noting the green flecks mixed in with the brown of his eyes. “Hey, kid. Uh, it’ll be a few hours before your dad’s back. I’m pretty sure I can manage not to break you until then. So if you could keep the banshee screaming down until then, I’d appreciate it.” Jason brought a small fist to his mouth and began to enthusiastically gnaw on it. Sam took it as agreement. 

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he found Ash leaning against the wall with an infant carrier dangling from one hand. Sam noticed that his partner was standing between the stairs and the Robinsons, wearing the slightly gleeful look on his face that he got when he was getting ready to kick some ass. As soon as Sam stepped off the last stair, Ash switched his attention over, smile turning far more genuine. “Aw, man! He’s a cute little dude, ain’t he? Hey there, man. I’m your, uh, step uncle? Uncle Ash. Kootchy koo!” He dug his fingers through the voluminous blanket to tickle the baby’s belly, getting a toothless smile from around the fist in his mouth. “I’ve got his carrier,” Ash informed him, still with that goofy smile on his face. “And the Robinson’s understand the situation. They’re aware that, until a judge revokes Dean’s parental rights, his decisions regarding Jason’s care are final, and any attempt to refuse you custody is kidnapping, and by itself could result in criminal charges.” 

“That’s good to hear. As long as they don’t cause us any problems, we won’t cause them any problems.” Sam knelt, and together, he and Ash managed to figure out how to get Jason secured in his seat. The three of them headed for the door. Sam paused on the threshold, waving Ash ahead with the baby. He didn’t look at them as he spoke. “I know what it’s like to lose family. I do. I know you want to hurt someone for taking away your daughter. But that someone isn’t Dean. And I can promise you, we will find the monster that did this, and we will make it pay.” He followed Ash out, not waiting for any sort of reply.

With a baby on hand and five more people likely to show up (Andy wouldn’t come without his twin and Max, and Bobby wouldn’t let the three of them come alone, and Dean would be out in a few hours) he and Ash opted for a nicer class of motel than they’d usually get, and got adjoining rooms to boot. Sam texted the room number to Andy and then got started on securing the two rooms. Ash, in the meantime, got Jason settled in the crib the hotel brought in. It was a cheap plastic thing, but it was better than trying to build a nest on the second bed. 

After that, it was just a matter of waiting. Ash managed to occupy himself with his computer and then, when that was getting him nothing, with sleep. Sam was so grateful to him he could have cried. Because he was on the very edge of breaking; his past was crashing in on his present, and he didn’t know how to handle that. It was meant to have been a clean, and permanent, break. Sam Winchester was meant to have vanished. And he’d never meant to see Dean again, let alone Bobby and the others. Now that there’d been contact again, not a one of them would ever leave him alone again. Not unless he completely cut ties with everything and everyone he knew, Ash and Ellen and Jo included, stopped hunting and left the country.   
But mostly, he was afraid of the questions he knew would come. Maybe not right away, considering they had Dean’s situation to deal with. But at some point, they would all want to know why he’d vanished on them. Sam wasn’t anything like ready to face those questions. He didn’t think he ever would be.

Around five in the morning, Sam heard the rumble of multiple engines approaching. Shotgun in hand, pistol tucked in his waistband, he went to the window to peek out. Bobby’s truck pulled in first, right beside the van. Right after was Andy’s van, complete with wild painting on the outside. Ash was gonna be so pissed at Sam for having their’s painted over....

Behind the van was the Impala. They’d gotten Dean out before stopping in to talk to Sam. He was out of time.

As if on cue, Jason began to cry. Ash woke with a jolt, hair every which way, looking very confused. Sam tucked the shotgun under his arm and scooped Jason up, bouncing the baby lightly. It didn’t help, and Sam felt the corner of his eye twitch. Dean was going to walk through the door and shoot him. Never mind that the kid had been sleeping peacefully up until then, completely fine. That wouldn’t matter. All that would matter is that Dean would see him holding the baby, and the baby crying. Ash eased the shotgun out of his grasp. “Check his diaper or something, man. He probably whizzed,” was the sage advice.

“Dude, I know that.” Sam had no idea what he was doing. Even so, when he gently prodded the front of the diaper, unwilling to actually grab a baby’s crotch, even he could tell that it was soaked. Pleased with having something constructive that he could be doing when Dean walked through the door, Sam laid Jason out on the bed and removed a fresh diaper and wipes from the bag. Ash went to open the door while Sam undid the snaps of the sleeper thing Jason had on. As the sound of multiple people talking at once filled the room, Sam opened the diaper. Jason peed the second the cool air washed over him, nailing Sam in the face. “Son of a bitch!” 

To his credit, Sam didn’t jerk or otherwise react violently. He simply froze, one hand braced on Jason’s round belly. Dead silence except for Jason’s snuffling cries filled the room. 

“Dude,” Dean said eventually. “You gotta keep it covered. It’s pretty unpredictable.” Sam slowly turned his head to look at his brother. Dean, not surprisingly, looked like hell. Even more exhausted than he had in Sam’s vision, unshaven and in need of a shower. Sam looked beyond him at the five men watching them and jerked his head at the connecting door. Ash herded the others through, and a minute later, the television from that room filtered through. Dean walked over to him, hands coming up. For one wild moment Sam thought Dean was about to hug him. But no, Dean eased him off to the side and took over the task of getting a fresh diaper on Jason.

Sam got up and went to the bathroom to wash his face. When he came out, Dean had Jason settled in the crook of his arm and was rocking slightly from side to side. “Andy got things all squared away for you? Or Ansem?”

“Yeah. That’s a pretty handy ability. He just–told those people I was innocent, they agreed and let me go, all charges dropped. What’s going on, Sam?”

“I don’t have...certainties, for you. Just probabilities, Dean.” Scrubbing his hands on his jeans, Sam went to stand at the window again. “It all seems to tie into Dead Fred. About six months ago, I had a vision. Of a woman getting shot by some tweaked out gang banger wannabe. Ash and I drove like bats outta hell to get there in time, and we just made it. Walked inside to see it all starting to go down. Turns out, the woman he was gonna shoot was like me. One of the kids with demon blood in them, I mean. Another psychic, of a sort. Ash and I talked about it, tossed around some ideas, and then we went to talk to someone who we thought might have a firm clue. Witch, named Darla Waters.” He turned around again, arms crossing over his belly. “Dead Fred was planning a war. Just because he’s dead, doesn’t mean that the other demons have given up on the plan. So far, none of them has been powerful enough to keep all the others in line in order to get the war moving. Which is where us psychic kids come in. We’re a source of power for demons. If a demon can gain control of enough of us, it’ll gain enough power to control all the other demons.”

“So they’re all gonna be squabbling amongst themselves. That should make it easier to pick them off,” Dean pointed out.

“Not so’s you’d notice, no. Oh, there’s plenty of low level demons running around causing problems. But the more powerful ones? The ones who’d have a shot at the top spot? We can’t find them. So me’n Ash, we’ve been going the other route. Finding all the psychic kids that we can and getting them on our side. We’ve got... one hell of a network all over the country,” Sam told him, no little pride in his voice. It was hard work, and physically and emotionally draining. But so far, every one of the kids he’d found had come through their early confusion and fear like a champ. Ready to stand and fight instead of giving in. 

The little glow of accomplishment faded when he looked at Dean again. “But I don’t know why you were targeted. Why Cassie was killed. It makes no sense, Dean. The last thing the demons would want would be another hunter gunning for them. Much less three. Sam Winchester has been effectively missing for two years. Demons don’t know who I am, or where I am. But they would know that you’ve been out of the game. It’s just stupid to have gone after you. They have to know you won’t rest until you find and kill whichever one is responsible.”

“Yeah. Let’s talk about that. Just how the fuck did you know what was gonna happen?”

“I had a vision. Right before I called you, I...I was trying to find another psychic. I know he’s somewhere in the area where I was, and I was hoping that this time, I’d be able to see something that would tell me exactly where. A street sign with a business on it, a newspaper, something. But sometimes...I can’t control what I’m looking at, and the vision shifted. First to you, working on an engine or something. A blue sedan, anyway.” Dean jerked a little, startled. “Then it shifted to Jason’s nursery. I saw Cassie walk in. Jason was making noise, just...baby noise, I guess. Not crying or unhappy sounds, anyway. She was fussing on him, and I got a look around the room. Saw that creepy fuckin’ clock, and knew it hadn’t happened yet. She went to get him changed, and I saw the demon forming. A daeva, a shadow demon. It can travel where ever there are shadows. And then I saw....anyway, the moment the vision let me go, I called you. Dean, I swear to you, I had no reason to think that you or your family would be in danger. I mean, I know I made sure the word got to you to be extra cautious for a while, but that was just a precaution. There was no reason to think....”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” Jason began to cry again, just fussing at first, but slowly growing in volume. Dean muttered something under his breath and went to dig something out of the diaper bag. Formula and a bottle, all of which he deftly mixed and warmed in the microwave one handed. When the bottle was ready, he sat on the bed to feed Jason, eyes growing tender as he looked at his son. They cooled considerably when they lifted to look at Sam again. “She didn’t deserve to die, Sam. I was meant to be out of the game. Retired. I want the evil son of a bitch that did that to her.”

“I will do everything I can to give him to you,” Sam swore. Dean just nodded, turning his attention back to feeding his son. Sam waited, but Dean seemed to be just...done talking to him. Stomach sinking, Sam went into the connecting room. All eyes instantly fastened onto him, but he ignored everyone except Ash. “I’m going to the house. See what I can pick up. We’ll let Dean get some sleep and see what he wants to do later, okay? Dunno if he’s gonna want to hang around here or come to the roadhouse or what.”

“Sure, Jess. Call me if you need something.” Ash dragged one of the armchairs over by the window and took up position, guarding the rooms. 

Sam glanced at the twins and Max, grouped on one bed and watching him. “You should sleep. And thanks, I appreciate the help.”

“Hey man, if shit’s going down, we are there.” Andy grinned, giving him a thumbs up. “You could bring us back some beer and wings though,” he added, voice vibrating a little. Sam scratched his nose with his middle finger in response, and Andy frowned. “Seriously. I want beer and hot wings.”

“Go get ‘em yourself. The mind whammy doesn’t work on me, Andy. And I will kick your ass if I catch you using it for anything other than emergencies. Either of you,” he added, giving Ansem a cold stare. He’d never been completely comfortable with him. Not when he’d killed people so inventively in Sam’s memory. He double checked his gun, nodded again at Ash, and went to the door. 

He was completely unsurprised when Bobby followed him. Sam let him until they reached his and Ash’s van, then turned to hold up a hand. “I don’t need the distraction, Bobby. So say what you wanna say and head back to the rooms. I’m sure Dean’d feel better if you were there.”

“I want to know what’s going on, Sam. Why you disappeared two years ago, what you’ve been doing, how you got those scars on your face, and what’s happening now.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Sighing, he went around to the back of the van and opened the doors. He handed Bobby a beer, taking one for himself, and sat staring out at the pavement. “I’m not gonna get into why I took off. It’s private, and none of even your business. I just...couldn’t deal with things, or anyone who knew me. I wanted a clean break. But I’ve still been hunting. I stay with Ash at Ellen’s place, and yes, she knows my real name and she’s been content to let me be Jesse Moore. The scars are from a hell hound. As for what’s happening now?” He shrugged, taking a long drink. “I don’t know for sure. I know the demons still want war, but why Cassie was killed.... It doesn’t make sense. Dean was out of the game, and for all the demons knew, so was I. I dunno about...”

“Your daddy’s been in and out of it,” Bobby told him. “Spends an awful lot of time drinking, though.”

“Yeah. So it was double stupid to go after Cassie. An attack on one is an attack on all of us. Soon as he hears about this, he’ll be here. And then the demon’s will have all three of us gunning for them. It was absolutely the last thing they shoulda done.” Sam drained the rest of his beer and chucked the empty bottle in the recycling bag they kept beside the cooler. “But all the same, I’m pretty sure the demon that sent the daeva–because those things are summoned, they don’t do things independently–was Meg. Dead Fred’s daughter. I haven’t mentioned that to Dean, since there’s no way to explain how I know that without telling him about the time travel.”

“You don’t think it’s time to fess up? Sam...you been carryin’ this load around for four years now. You could share the weight.”

“I did.” Sam got up and slammed the back doors shut. “You know. And so does Ash. That’s gonna have to be good enough.” He clapped Bobby on the shoulder. “I’ll figure this out, and I’ll find the bitch and hand her over to Dean, and then...I dunno. Keep hunting the rest of the demons that are trying so hard to bring the war on. She’s probably one of the strongest, one of the closest to really stepping into her dad’s shoes. We’d been looking for her anyway. But it’s surprisingly difficult to find a demon that doesn’t want to be found. Ash is on it. The second she pokes her head up, we’ll know.”

“Sam...you don’t have to do this alone. We’re all involved. You gotta let us help.”

“Man, I pretty much get the feeling that I won’t be able to stop you. Go back inside. Get some sleep. You look like crap.” With that, he turned his back, effectively ending the conversation, and went to the driver’s side door. He got in, a little tense until he saw Bobby heading back to the adjoining rooms. His stomach unclenched and he drove to his brother’s house.

There were still a few police officers there, not to mention the Crime Scene people. Sam smiled winningly at them, one by one. “Go outside and wait,” he ordered each time. “Forget you saw me.” Each time, they smiled and nodded back, obediently walking outside. Dean was right, it was a pretty handy ability. 

Most of the house was untouched. Sam could see signs of the police having disturbed things. But he couldn’t sense even a hint of demon on the ground floor. Then he went to the nursery. He’d known what to expect, he’d seen it happen. That didn’t make the sight of the blood spattered room any easier to see, nor the stench of it any easier to bear. But above all of that, was the overwhelming feeling of evil. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what a daeva felt like now. He knew it wasn’t there anymore, but he also knew it would gladly come back to finish the job. In front of the dresser, where Cassie had been standing when it started, he got the feeling of glee mixed in with her terror. It had enjoyed scaring her, giving her those few seconds of warning that it was coming before it had struck. And oh, how it had just loved her pain as it peeled the skin from her body and the muscle from her bones.

Swallowing down the beer that was trying to make a reappearance, Sam paced over to the crib. He couldn’t be upset that it was destroyed. Even if the blood were cleaned off, the desecration of it by Cassie’s blood–the blood of the mother–made many of the protections useless. There weren’t enough purification rites in the world to change that. But it had done its job very well. The frustration surrounding the crib almost made him smile. It had wanted Jason. Had done all it could to get at him. But there had simply been too many protections that it couldn’t break, no matter how hard it pushed or how much maternal blood it spilt. 

In fact, the most powerful of those protections was strengthened by it. Cassie, in her last moments, had wanted more than anything to protect Jason. By dousing the crib in her blood, the daeva had accidentally added power to several of the symbols. 

But for all that he managed to get from the room, the one thing he didn’t get was the sense of who was holding the leash. He managed to glean a faint sense of communication, but not a sense of who it was communicating with. Just about falling over with the exhaustion, nausea, and forming headache, Sam staggered out of the house, absently waved the cops and techs back in, and crawled into the van. It was probably extremely stupid of him to drive back to the motel under those conditions, but he wasn’t thinking well enough to realize that.

INTERLUDE

Dean managed to peel Jason out of his own arms and put his now sleeping son back in the cheap crib. He should talk to Sam again. He needed to talk to Sam again. He just didn’t think he could do it with a baby in the room. Not with the way he wanted to shake the crap out of his brother and then kiss him senseless. After making a quick circuit of the room to double check the wards his brother had put up, he went through the door Sam had used earlier. Bobby was there, along with the Terrible Trio, all watching lesbian porn, much to Bobby’s pinch-faced irritation. Plus that mullet-haired guy, sitting in an armchair with a shotgun across his knees. But no Sam. “Where’s my brother?” he demanded.

The long haired guy looked up. “Went to check your place out, see what he could see.”

“What the hell does that mean? And who the hell are you, anyway?”

“His partner.” The guy unfolded himself. To Dean’s surprise, he was just as tall as Dean himself was. He was just so skinny looking, he gave the impression of being much smaller. “You got that baby asleep?”

“Yeah. Look...”

“C’mon outside with me. We’ll chat.” He passed the shotgun to Bobby, jerking his head towards the room where Jason slept. “Watch the kid. Jess’ll skin me if he gets so much as a split end. Dean?” Opening the room door, he waited until Dean grudgingly passed through it. They didn’t go far, just to the parking lot. He seemed abnormally interested in the wild painting on the outside of Andy’s van. “I freakin’ told him we could keep Zeus,” he muttered.

“Hey, roadie guy. You wanna focus here?” Dean leaned tiredly against his car, taking what comfort he could from her solid support. “I wanna know why Sam is at my house. And I wanna know....”

“Dude, you need to relax. First off, my name is Ash. I’ve been Jesse’s partner for the last two years. Jesse is Sam, in case you haven’t caught that. And I bet he wasn’t really very clear when you two talked. He’s been pretty shook up since he had the vision.” Ash examined something on his finger, flicking it away as he looked at Dean from under his lashes.

“Not terribly, no. But clear enough. Demonic war, blah blah. Why is he at my house, and what does he mean by ‘visions’?”

“He’s psychic. Probably the most powerful of all of the demon touched psychic kids. The demons didn’t give up on the war that the yellow eyed demon was planning. They just lack leadership. Whichever demon manages to corrupt the most of the psychic kids and get them on its side? Will end up being the leader. They’re a potent source of power. Jess’s been stealing all that power away, getting to the kids before they can be turned. What he’s gone to do at your place is see what he can sense. It doesn’t make much sense that you and your wife woulda been a target. The demons don’t know that Jess is really your brother Sam, so...” Ash shrugged. “If he can get a handle on what the thing’s goal was, he might be able to figure out why it went for her. I’m sorry it happened, man. And Jess is just shredded by it.”

“He never even met her,” Dean heard himself say bitterly. “He didn’t know her, and he didn’t like her anyway. Why should he even care!”

Ash didn’t seem in the least fazed by his outburst. “Because she was your choice. Your wife, and the one that you wanted. I have a separate computer running just to keep tabs on you. He might not have been able to bring himself to see you face to face, but....”

“He promised me....”

“He tried to keep that promise. But he was hurting, man. Barely clawing himself from one day to the next. Bleeding so bad inside that the only way he survived was to cauterize the wound. I get that you’re hurting. I’ve lost people m’self. But Jesse...he’s already tearing himself up to find what did this to you. I am begging you to not make it worse for him. He’s gonna guilt himself into an early grave, thinking this was his fault. I...” Ash trailed off, looking over Dean’s shoulder.

Dean turned, noting the big black van making its erratic way towards them. It slowed to a crawl once it turned into the parking lot, which was probably what saved Ash’s hide. Dean gaped a little when the other man sprinted straight at the van and jumped onto the running board while the thing was still moving. Only as Ash wrenched open the driver’s side door did Dean realize that the driver was Sam. A barely conscious Sam, with blood streaming from his nose. Before he quite knew he was doing it, he was running towards the vehicle himself.

Together, he and Ash managed to get the van more or less parked. Dean started to pat his brother down, noting the feeling of ribs too close to the surface of the skin and the hollow feeling of his belly. “Sam? Sammy, wake up! You gotta tell me what happened. Sammy....”

“Dude, don’t,” Ash ordered him. He shouldered Dean to the side and got his arms around Sam, hauling him out of the van. “He doesn’t need waking. He needs sleep. You wanna help, you can go open the door and make sure there’s a free bed.”

For the first time in his life, Dean got the feeling that someone else could take better care of his brother than he could.

~

An unfamiliar hand touched his shoulder and brought Sam out of a deep sleep in an instant. He was up and moving before his eyes were fully open, snagging the hand and twisting, pinning the owner to the bed with his knife at the person’s throat. Bobby’s startled face stared up at him, and Sam swore. “Don’t you fuckin’ do that again, Bobby!” He rolled to the side, releasing the other man. “I coulda killed you before I knew it was you. Shit.” The door slammed open a moment later, showing him four freaked out faces, including Dean’s, staring at them. “What? What the fuck do you people want?” he snarled.

“Uh, Sammy, you wanna put the knife down?” Dean asked him, nodding at the hand that was still holding the weapon. 

Still angry over his own scare, Sam threw it, watching it vibrate a couple inches from his brother’s head. “Happy?” he snapped. He got up and stomped into the bathroom on legs that wanted to shake and slammed the door behind himself. Ash poked his head around the shower curtain, hair piled high on his head with suds. “Thanks for watching my back, partner. I almost sliced Bobby’s head off. Literally!” He yanked open his jeans and shoved them and his boxers down.

Ash held the curtain open for him once he’d managed to get himself stripped. “Sorry, man. I told them to leave you alone. Each one promised to steer clear of you. ‘S not my fault they can’t keep a promise.”  
“Fuck me,” Sam swore, leaning against the tile. He scrubbed a hand over his face, heart finally beginning to slow down. “I was actually sleeping, too. What the hell was so important he couldn’t let me sleep?”

“They’re all itching to get moving, start looking for the daeva.” Ash shrugged, sticking his head under the spray to get rid of the suds. “They wanted to know what you found at the house this morning,” he finished, half gargling the words out.

Sam hardly listened, too busy watching the path the suds took down his partner’s body. He reached out to card his fingers through Ash’s hair, helping him to rinse, and getting a good grip in the process. “They can wait, I think.” He pulled Ash’s smirking face to his, tasting soap and toothpaste when he slammed his mouth down on Ash’s. Ash made a startled sound, which he swallowed, but quickly returned the kiss. So Sam crowded closer, pressing their bodies together, getting Ash pinned nice and tight against the shower wall. The hot water beat down on his back, and there was still plenty of soap clinging to Ash’s skin, making things that much more slippery.

He shifted until he got his dick, hard and throbbing already, tucked right up against Ash’s rapidly hardening cock. Feet braced against the tub, he started thrusting, slow and lazy. Ash held on, fingers digging into Sam’s back, and hiked one leg up around Sam’s waist to help with thrusting. Sam slid his free hand down to curve over an ass cheek, fingers sliding into the cleft, just brushing Ash’s tight little hole. Ash swore around his tongue, pushing his ass back into the touch, then his dick forward against Sam’s.

As much as Sam would have liked to draw it out, lazy sex being one of his favorite ways to calm down when there was nothing to shoot, he knew they didn’t really have time. He sped up the motion of his hips, moaning appreciatively when Ash reached down to stroke his perineum. He bit a little at Ash’s lips, pushed the tip of one finger inside him, and let himself go, spilling between their bellies. Since his legs turned to jelly anyway, he sank to his knees and slurped Ash’s cock down in one go, swallowing rapidly until Ash released down his throat with a string of curses that would have made your average sailor blush. Sam pulled back, licking gently to ease Ash through the aftershocks, then got up to scrub himself down as the water started to get cool. Ash stayed slumped against the wall until Sam shut off the water and hit him in the face with a towel.

Moving with the ease of people who’d been living in each other’s back pockets for two years, they got out and dried off. Ash shaved while Sam brushed his teeth, then they both poked their heads out of the bathroom to see if the coast was clear. It was, so they ventured out and dressed quickly, before anyone came in. 

When they entered the adjoining room, all eyes snapped to them, flicking back and forth. “Oh my god, you two totally fucked!” Andy yelped. Sam eyed him coolly until Andy subsided, shrinking back a little behind his brother. Then Sam glanced at Dean, busy strapping Jason into his carrier. Dean looked at him, looked at Ash, and turned his back.

Swallowing hard, Sam turned to Bobby. “What did you want to know so bad that you couldn’t let me sleep?”

“Sam...”

“Hold it. Look, it’s been a couple of years since I’ve gone by that name. I’m not fond of it, and I don’t want you to use it. Far more people know me as Jesse than ever knew me as Sam.” He glared at the Terrible Trio. “That goes for the three of you, too.”

Bobby scowled right back at him. “Fine, Jesse. What did you find at the house?”

“A whole lot of nothing useful. The daeva was being controlled, which we knew, but I couldn’t get a feel for the controller.” He stopped, raking a hand back through his hair as his visit to the nursery came back to him in detail. “It did want Jason, too. It was frustrated that it couldn’t get at him. I don’t think it’ll come back for him...but I’m not willing to bet his life on that.” He addressed his brother, who still had his back mostly to him. “I know...there are details you’re gonna have to take care of. The funeral and the house. I don’t know where you plan to go after, but you’d be welcome at the roadhouse. There’s room, and it’s safe. Possibly one of the safest places anywhere. I...whatever you want, man.”

“I’ll think about it,” was the terse reply.

Lips thinning, Sam turned back to Bobby. “Anything else you wanna know?”

“Never mind,” was the terse response from that quarter. “I’ll check it out myself. Let’s go, you three.” He stalked to the door, Max and the twins trailing behind like ducklings. He paused with his hand on the knob. “You aren’t in this alone, you know. You can quit acting like the weight of the world is on your shoulders and the rest of us are just draggin’ you down anytime now. I been doing this since before you were a gleam in your daddy’s eye, Sam.” He threw open the door, making it bang against the wall, and stomped out. Sam could just make out his bitching about stubborn, moody Winchesters. 

Ash cleared his throat, plainly about to say something. He just as plainly thought better of it, turning and ducking into the other room, closing the door behind himself. Sam was left alone with his brother and nephew. Again. Chewing his lip almost bloody, Sam cautiously approached. Jason was busily chewing his fist, little feet kicking. “He’s...a gorgeous kid, Dean,” he said awkwardly. “Seems pretty sweet tempered, too. Except when he’s wet.” Dean fussily tucked a blanket in around Jason before sliding a little knit cap over his head. Sam reached out, wanting to touch one of those plump, downy cheeks. Dean stilled, body vibrating with a strange tension that Sam couldn’t interpret. Rather than touch, Sam let his hand hover, opening his senses. “I dunno if you were worried or anything. But nothing was done to him. I mean, like what happened to me the night mom died. He wasn’t...tainted, by what happened.”

“Of course he wasn’t tainted,” Dean snapped. “My son is perfect.”

Sam backed away, scrubbing his hands on his jeans. “Of course. I just...of course. Sorry. Um...do you want help? I mean, with any of the arrangements or anything? I’ve had to do it before....”

Dean slung the diaper bag over his shoulder and picked up the baby carrier. “No, Sam. I’m pretty sure I can handle getting what’s left of my wife buried. You can go back to your crystal ball or cocksucking or whatever. Thanks anyway.” He followed Bobby out the door, much more quietly. 

“Well...fuck.” Sam backed up against the wall and slid down it, head in his hands. This whole thing was going to rip whatever was left of him to shreds. And he didn’t even know if he’d manage to be useful before that was done.

~

Cassie’s funeral was three days later. Dean hadn’t accepted anyone’s help in arranging it, least of all Sam’s. Still, Sam stuck as close as he dared to Dean, needing to be there in case Dean changed his mind, wanted or needed anything at all. But nothing was asked of him, not even diaper duty. In fact, Dean hardly said three words to him. He got a lot of looks from Dean’s friends, his scarred up freak of a brother lurking around the fringes, and nobody approached him. Which was fine, since Sam wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

They remained in town a couple days after that. Mostly because Bobby was still investigating, trying to find out more about the demon behind the attack than Sam had come up with. Dean didn’t exactly ask when he was ready to go. Just kind of glanced at Sam, sighed, and said, “That offer of a place to crash....”

“Unconditionally open,” Sam blurted promptly, amazed to have his brother say something to him. Dean nodded and walked away to start packing. A lot of stuff, mostly Jason’s, had somehow accumulated in the rooms, and Sam could see it was going to take a while. Bobby glanced at his trio and made a gesture. They got up to start packing without a word of complaint, and much more efficiently than Sam would have thought possible. Sam turned to get his and Ash’s few belongings–mostly weapons–packed up. 

The whole troupe of them were actually out at the vehicles, tossing bags in and discussing routes and rest stops, when Sam’s phone rang. If it were Ellen or Jo or one of their other roadhouse contacts, they’d have called Ash. That it was his phone meant that it was one of his kids. Sam wouldn’t ignore a call, even now. Especially now. “Yeah?” he answered, very aware of his brother’s hard gaze on him.

“Jesse? It’s Lani. Um...I think? I think I found a demon,” was the breathlessly excited response. Sam closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “No, really this time! I’m up in Michigan, Jesse, and you should see this kid! I’m sure she’s possessed, Jesse. I mean, I know I’ve said that before, but...”

“Lani, what the hell are you doing in Michigan?” Sam interrupted. “You’re from Washington. And it’s November. There’s nothing to do in Michigan in November that you can’t do in Washington.”

“I’m, maybe, kind of, hunting? But the important thing is the demon, Jesse. I’ve been looking, and I found one! You have to come see. I’m not, y’know, real positive of which, uh, exorcism to use.” Sam could practically see her twisting her hair around one finger. Even without actually ‘looking’. He wanted to scold her. Yell at her for going out on her own, looking for trouble. But he’d done it before, just as she’d called him like this before, certain that she’d found a demon, and it obviously hadn’t had any effect. From the moment she’d learned of hunting, Lani had been determined that she was going to be a hunter. She was sweet, but more enthusiasm than sense.

“Okay,” he said tightly. “Fine. Text me the address of where you’re staying. But Lani, either way this turns out, you and me are gonna talk. Is that clear?”

She swallowed, audible over the phone. “Yes, Jesse.” 

“Good. And whatever you do, stay away from this kid. I’m not baling you out of jail if some creeped out parent has you arrested for stalking their kid, and I’m going to be really fucking pissed if it’s genuine and you get yourself dead. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Jesse.”

“Good.” He hung up, turning pained eyes on Ash. “Ash...”

“I heard. She thinks she found a demon.” Ash shook his head. “Dude, we’re chaining her to a wall or something. How we gonna work this?”

“What’s going on, you two?” Bobby demanded.

“Lani,” Sam said simply, feeling the skin around his left eye start to twitch. “One of us,” he nodded at the Trio, meaning the psychics. “Ever since she found out, she’s been running around, trying to find demons. She wants to help.” He shook his head. “She’s smart and sweet, and there’s not a mean bone in her body. She just has no common sense. This is the fourth time she’s called with a demon alert. I’d ignore it, but...”

“But the one time you do that, is the one time it’ll turn out to be real,” was Dean’s unexpected input. His lips quirked in an almost smile. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full, Sammy.”

“Uh, yeah. A little. Anyway, this changes plans a little. Ash, you’re riding shotgun with Dean. Grab your gear. Bobby, I want you on point, Andy, you three will bring up the rear. And once you’re there, do not, I repeat, do not say word one about your abilities or make them in any way obvious. Your tats keep you off the demonic radar, and I don’t want word getting out through unprotected hunters that you’re there. You got me?” They nodded, a slightly mulish look in Ansem’s eyes. He didn’t like Sam telling him what to do, but would go along with it because the other two were. “I hope what Bobby’s been teaching you has stuck.”  
“It has. They’re good,” Bobby assured him.

“Good.” He raised a scarred eyebrow at his brother, because Dean was seething, ready to protest. No longer amused over Sam’s babysitting duties. “He really is a beautiful baby,” Sam said gently, reminding Dean of why they were all doing this. Because nobody there would dream of coddling Dean Winchester, or going to so much effort to protect him. But Jason would be in the Impala, and there might well be a demon out there still gunning for his specific blood. The more people between the baby and the world, the better. “It makes sense, and you know it. Ash!” He headed for the van to check on his partner. “You ready, man?”

“Yeah.” Ash hefted his duffel, slamming the back door shut. “Thanks a lot, man. You know how bad a baby’s diaper smells in an enclosed space like a car?”

“Suck it up,” Sam advised. “I want regular check ins. You can just text if it’s too awkward to call, but I want a check in every two hours until you’re at the roadhouse. You get the slightest hint of anything not right....”

“I’ll take care of them,” Ash promised.

“Take care of yourself, too. I have no idea what half the shit on the computers do, man. I’d be lost.”

“Nice to know I’m useful for something. Sit the monkey down, make him dance at the keyboard.” Sam twitched, feeling an echo of those words come back from a future that wouldn’t be. Ash noticed and pursed his lips, but said nothing. He was good like that, leaving Sam be when something reminded him. Although it had never been something so precise before.

“At least I keep you in bananas,” he answered lamely. “I’m gonna head out. Be careful. I’ll call Ellen, let her know you’re coming. Have her run out and get something for Jason to sleep in, maybe.” Both of Ash’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Something cheap. Yes, I’ll be swinging by Eli’s again.” Eli being the Amish man who’d handcrafted the oak crib Sam had given his brother, not Eli the vampire. An important distinction, at least to Sam. This one didn’t want to kill him. With a final squeeze to his partner’s shoulder, he walked around and swung up into the driver’s seat. His phone chimed a new text message as he slid the key in and turned it. He paused for a second, worry rising up and over him, nearly choking him with its intensity. He had to leave, had to check on Lani and her demon. She was his responsibility, one he’d chosen, and he didn’t get to shirk that just because he’d rather trail after his brother, making sure he was okay. But oh, he wanted to. Wanted to be the one slinging himself into the passenger seat of the Impala, legs just a little too long to fit right. Wanted to be shut up inside with his brother’s scent in his nose, all leather and gunpowder and musk.

He put the van in gear and pulled out, not allowing himself to look back. Bobby and Ash would get his brother and nephew to safety.

*  
Sam turned the van off, beyond grateful to be not driving anymore. His back was killing him, and all he wanted was a hot shower and about a month’s worth of sleep. Or, y’know, a few hours, anyway. Beside him, Lani smiled timidly, and Sam patted her leg. It absolutely wasn’t her fault that she’d been right. It had been bound to happen eventually, just based on her sheer stubbornness in looking. “C’mon, Lani-girl. You’re about to see what a real hunter’s hang out is like. And Ash’ll be glad to see you again.”

“No he won’t. He’ll be mad that I let you drive all this way.”

Sam slid out, breathing in the cold, crisp air cautiously around bruised ribs. “Sweetheart, you can hardly see over the dash,” he said when she’d joined him. A slight exaggeration, but not by much. Lani was short. Under five feet tall short. She had long brown hair that frizzed in pretty much every weather, and a few pounds too many to qualify her for conventional standards of beauty. Mule stubborn, if lacking in common sense, she had the makings of a damn fine hunter. With the proper training, of course. And since she was refusing to give up on the idea of being a hunter, Sam planned to see to it that she received that training. He slung an arm over her shoulders, feeling as though she were practically tucked into a pocket, and walked inside with her.

The place wasn’t all that busy. Four semi-regulars spaced around the bar itself, with another half-dozen occupying tables. Ellen behind the bar, Jo swishing about the place, Ash bending over the pool table. Dean was in the corner with....Sam’s fingers dug into Lani’s shoulder hard enough that she squeaked and ducked away from him. He hardly noticed, shock at seeing John Winchester sitting beside his eldest son having frozen his limbs.

It was the sharp crack of ball hitting ball that jarred him back into motion. He was going to kill Ash for not calling and warning him. Never mind the turned off phone, he could still have found a way. He turned his back on his brother, although it made the skin between his shoulder blades itch to do so, and mustered something like composure. Ignoring the worried look Lani was casting up at him, he guided her up to the bar. “Ellen. Anything happening?”

“Besides you turning this place into some sort of hostel?” She smacked a beer bottle on the bar, foam spilling out and down her fingers. “You tell me.”

He winced. “Yeah. Sorry, Ellen. It was...something of an emergency.” His gaze flickered to the mirror, and his brother’s reflection within it. “How’s he doing?”

Gaze softening, Ellen shrugged. “I don’t really know. He’s...quiet. Asks an awful lot about you. John’s been here the last couple of days, so that’s something, at least. Beautiful baby.”

“Yeah, he really is. Were you able to get a crib? I’ll pay you back for it.”

“Dean already did. Listen, Jo’s pretty upset with you right now. You might wanna steer clear of her.”

“God, what did I do now? I swear, I haven’t even talked to her in weeks, Ellen.”

“She’s having issues over the name thing.”

“Name thing?” Lani piped up. “What name thing?”

“I...lost touch with my brother for a while. Changed my name. I go by Jesse now, but if you asked my brother, he’d tell you my name is Sam. Damn. That’s gonna make things awkward.” Sam took a gloomy pull off his bottle. “Oh yeah. Ellen, this is Lani. Lani, this is Ellen. This is her place, and if you piss her off, she will beat you to death with a bar towel. And that’s no joke.”

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you. Jesse says this is the place to go if you’re a hunter.” Lani stuck her hand out with a bright grin.

“Pleasure,” Ellen murmured, taking her hand. “And are you a hunter?”

“I’m...working on it.” Lani took her hand back to smooth her hair down. “I’m thinking I’ve got a long ways to go.” She gave Ellen a rueful little smile. “It’s a good thing Jesse likes me, or he’d probably have smacked the hell out of me.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, it turns out that the English translation of an Exorcism doesn’t work. Um. At all.”

Ellen looked momentarily horrified, but quickly smoothed her expression back into blandness. “That’s true enough. I’ve never heard of any translated Exorcisms working. Pretty much gotta be done in their original languages.”

“That’s what Jesse said.” Lani shot him a quick grin. “Anyway, he brought me back here so he could teach me a thing or three so’s I don’t get killed. I figure on getting a motel in the morning, so I won’t be in your hair for long.”

“Oh, hon. It’s no trouble. And it’s probably best if you stick close.” So he can train you 24/7. The final words weren’t spoken, but they all heard them anyway. “Especially if you aren’t allergic to workin’.”

“Anything I can do to help out around the place.”

“Well, that’s more’n I can say for Ash, that’s for sure. Welcome to the roadhouse, sweetie. Jess, Bobby asked me to tell you to keep in touch this time, or he’ll beat your ass.” Sam made a face, having forgotten all about Bobby. With a knowing smirk, Ellen plopped another beer on the counter, this one for Lani, and moved off to refill someone else’s.

“Wow. This isn’t...what I expected.” Nose wrinkling a little, Lani took a tiny sip of beer, mouth going through several contortions as she attempted to swallow it. Shaking his head, Sam walked around to the back of the bar to pour her a soda. 

“Here. Don’t worry, Ash’ll finish your beer for you.” He walked back around, resolutely not seeing the hand his brother had raised, beckoning him over to the corner. He picked up both bottles of beer and made for his partner, Lani a much relieved shadow beside him, happily sipping her soda. Ash scowled at him when they got to the pool table. “Aw, shit. Now what did I do? Huh?”

“You left me fuckin’ high and dry for Jo to hammer at, you shit,” he hissed. “Soon as she figured out that Dean was talkin’ about you whenever he said ‘Sam’ she started twisting my ears and yanking my hair, trying to get me to spill. Next time, I take the exorcism, and you can twiddle your thumbs for a week.” He swiped both bottles out of Sam’s hand, draining first Sam’s, then Lani’s. He looked much calmer when he lowered the empty bottle, and let loose a truly prodigious belch. “Hey, Lani-girl. How’d you like meeting an actual demon?” 

“Oh, well. It was, um. Scary as shit,” she confessed. “You all were right when you said I had no idea what it was like. That poor kid...” Ash gave him a sharp look, and Sam shook his head.

“Kid’s gonna be fine. She was a little beat up, a lot shook up, but okay. We’ve seen a lot worse, Ash.”

“Yeah, alright. So you ever gonna head on over there? Or are you gonna let your brother continue to glare holes in the back of your head? Hey, maybe if he keeps it up long enough, you really will end up with a hole in your head.” Ash waggled his eyebrows, eyes flicking down to Sam’s crotch. 

“I’m not getting my dick pierced. Sweetheart, I’m gonna leave you in Ash’s capable hands. He’ll get you settled in the spare bed in our room when you’re tired, and probably start in on some exaggerated war stories of hunts gone by. In the morning, we’ll work on finding some more permanent lodgings for you and start talking about everything you need to learn if you’re really fool enough to take on hunting as your life’s work.” Lani laughed, not realizing how serious he was about the ‘fool’ bit and swiped at his arm. Sam barely felt it, and added weight training onto his mental list of things she needed. Stealing himself, he turned around and headed towards his brother.

Each step seemed more difficult than the last as he crossed the bar. The distance had never seemed so great, and the simple act of crossing it had never made his gut clench in a mixture of pain and nausea. But this was something he had no choice except to do, and Sam was good at doing the things he had to. He reached the table in the corner, not quite able to bring his gaze above his brother’s nose. “Hey, man. How you holdin’ up?”

“Just peachy, considering you just took off and dumped me here, and that freak partner of yours wouldn’t tell me shit about what you were doing,” Dean snarled. “What the hell is going on, Sammy? Why won’t anyone here talk about you?”  
Sam stretched out a foot to hook it around a chair leg and drag it closer. He straddled it backwards, arms folded over the back. “Sorry if Ash seemed a little closed mouthed. He didn’t tell you anything because there wasn’t anything for him to tell. It was a demon possessing a twelve year old girl, and I wasn’t taking the time to call home.”

“Seems to be a lot of demons popping up lately,” John ventured. Sam shuddered, pain stabbing through his belly at the sound of his voice. He tried to disguise his reaction with a nod.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Seems to be. Anyway, I’ve been told Ash can get a little uptight on those occasions we’re separated, so he was probably feeling a bit snappish. I’ll have a talk with him about that.”

“Sure, fine. Whatever. Don’t do me no favors. And by the way, that little blond is pissed at you. But even she won’t talk about what you’ve been up to the last couple years.” Dean snapped his fingers in front of Sam’s face, startling him into looking up. “What the hell is going on with you, Sammy?”

“Nothing. Just a little tired from the hunt, is all. Anyway, where’s Jason? Somebody babysitting?”

“No, he’s sleeping.” Dean pulled a little white radio out of his pocket, a baby monitor, Sam realized. “He hasn’t been sleeping as well since it happened.” Dean looked down, staring at the little thing, thumb swiping over the red indicator light. “I think he remembers some of it. Maybe not clearly, but he had to know something bad was going on, and he can’t sleep anymore because of it.” 

Sam started to reach out, everything in him at that moment telling him to comfort his brother. But another hand reached Dean’s arm first, and Sam would prefer walking through the fires of hell to touching that skin ever again. He recoiled, the motion turning into him standing up and nearly knocking over his chair. “I’m...I’ll look into it. See if there’s...I’m sure I can find something to help him sleep. I’ll let you know, okay? Don’t stay up too late, or Ellen will make you help clean up.” 

The moment Sam was through the door that separated the public room from the private, family only area, he broke into a run. Even so, he barely made it to the toilet before his knees gave out and his stomach rebelled, expelling what little remained of the half a cheeseburger he’d managed to choke down at lunch. It kept going, too, heaving and heaving long after there was nothing left, not even bile. Tears and snot dripped down his face, sweat dripped over the rest of him, and every part of his body was shaking.

Strong, wiry arms wrapped around him from behind. A thin chest pressed against his back, supporting and shielding him, and Sam wanted to jerk away. To straighten and snarl that he was fine. But his stomach wasn’t relenting, wasn’t giving him a single moment to even really breathe, much less stand on his own. And when, what seemed an eternity later, his body finally did relent, it was only Ash’s presence at his back that kept him from falling face down onto the floor. Ash leaned against the wall, and Sam leaned against him, cradled between his legs. Ash had one hand carding through Sam’s hair and the other rubbing his beyond sore belly, and all he wanted to do was close his eyes and never open them again. He wasn’t strong enough for this.

“You’re stronger than you think,” Ash muttered, telling him that he’d said that last bit out loud. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, Jesse. What the hell did that man do to you?”

“I-I don’t...”

“Don’t!” Ash hissed fiercely. “Just don’t, man. You can’t look at him. You can’t say his name. You stutter over the word ‘dad’ even when you aren’t talking about your own. You couldn’t look at him in there. I saw you when you walked in, when you first caught sight of him. I’ve only ever seen you that color when you were a couple quarts low on blood, Jess. And when he almost touched you....”

Remembering the near brush had Sam lunging for the toilet, more dry heaves wracking his frame. Ash held his hair back, rubbing his back until the spasms once again stopped. Nothing more was said on the subject after that. Ash simply helped him clean up and get to their room. He proffered a fat spliff, scowling when Sam shook his head. “Dude, you gotta get some rest, settle your stomach.”

“I’m not...in the mood, Ash. I just–I can’t.” Couldn’t bear the thought of having his reactions slowed, mental or physical. Couldn’t handle not being in full control of himself. Didn’t feel safe enough. He crawled into the nest, feeling the multitude of pillows cradle his sore and battered body. All the puking hadn’t done shit for his bruised ribs, that was for damn sure. 

“Fine! But one of these days, you’re gonna tell me exactly what happened between the two of you.” Ash put the joint down and smacked his hand into the dresser, emphasizing his point. “It’s making you freak out, man, and that’s not good. You need to talk this shit out, before something really unpleasant happens.” Sam half sat up, eyes wide with his alarm. What the hell had that meant? “Jesus, man, you remember me when I freaked out over the hell hound, right? How I panicked and almost couldn’t get the job done?” Sam nodded. “Well, you aren’t at the top of your game. You’re freaked out and distracted, and that could get somebody hurt. Namely, you, and we all need you in top form, my friend. Get some sleep and think about it. I’ll be here whenever.” Ash backed out of the room, turning the light off as he went.

Sam laid back down, but he couldn’t relax. Couldn’t let himself give in to the exhaustion that was his reward for doing a hunt on his own. At least, not until he got up and retrieved the hunting knife they usually kept in the top drawer of the dresser and tucked it beneath the pillow his head laid on. It made a discernable lump that wasn’t exactly comfortable, but was certainly comforting. His eyes closed, and he slowly eased down into an uneasy sleep.

INTERLUDE:

 

Dean jerked, hand automatically going to his side where he had his pistol, when his brother got to his feet so suddenly. He half stood to follow, totally bewildered as to what had, for want of a better term, sent his brother running. Nothing was making much sense lately, and his own guilt and confusion wasn’t exactly helping. “Damn,” dad murmured, sounding utterly defeated. Confused as he’d been lately, it hadn’t been lost on Dean that Sam hadn’t looked directly at John even once since he’d walked in with that cute little brunette under his arm. Dean looked at him, noting the pallor and slumped posture. He looked at the door that Sam had all but run through, then, hating that he had to, looked at Ash. His brother’s partner (and god, but that stuck in his craw) shook his head slightly, making a ‘stay’ gesture. He murmured something to the girl, who, like everyone else in the place, had watched his brother leave. She nodded and went to sit at the bar while Ash followed Sam out.

“What the hell is going on around here, Dad?” Dean turned all his attention on his father. It was nice to see him sober for once, but even to encourage that, Dean wasn’t going to let up. “That had something to do with you, didn’t it? I think it’s about time you told me just exactly what the hell happened between you and my brother.”

“I..it’s...Dean. Son. It’s not for me to tell. If Sam hasn’t chosen to share that with you, I’m not going to. I can’t. Wouldn’t be right.” They’re nothing but excuses, and his father knew it just as well as Dean did. But Dean just didn’t have the energy to fight with him about it, didn’t have the stamina to press. Not with his wife dead and it his fault. Not when he didn’t know if he wanted to hug his brother or slug him or what. Sometimes he thought he almost hated Sam, because it seemed to him that if Sam hadn’t called, then he’d still be back in Cape Girardeau, fighting with Cassie over what age it was appropriate to teach a child to shoot. Other times, he wanted to get on his knees and thank his brother, because without his call, Cassie might well have been in a different room with Jason. Too far away from the crib for it to protect his son. He didn’t understand why she was dead, didn’t understand what was going on with his brother, and had no idea what his future was going to be like. And he had a son that he had to take care of and protect, and he didn’t even know if he was going to manage that alright. So he just didn’t have the energy to beat his head against the brick wall that was John fucking Winchester.

“Yeah, color me surprised,” was all he said, turning away.

November 18th, 2005

Sam knocked Lani on her ass for the fifth time in seven minutes. Rather than improving, she’d been getting worse the last quarter hour, which meant she was getting too tired to continue her physical training. “Enough,” he decided, reaching a hand down to help her up. “Enough, Lani. You’re exhausted. I want you to stretch like I showed you and head in for a shower.”

“I can do it, Jesse! C’mon, just ‘cause I’m a girl...”

“Hey! This has nothing to do with you being a girl. You can’t learn if you’re too tired to throw a straight punch. You’re worse now than when we started, and backwards is not the sort of progress we want to be making.” She glared stubbornly up at him. “Jesus, Lani. Get a shower. Have some lunch. I’m going to give you a bunch of books to read. If you don’t fall asleep over them, we’ll come back out after dinner, alright?”

“Alright, fine. But if I think you’re going easy on me just ‘cause I’m a girl...” She brandished a fist at him, and Sam got the absurd mental image of a kitten threatening a full grown tiger. 

“Sweetheart, your life is gonna depend on your training some day. I’m not gonna go easy on you, trust me on that. By the time I’m through with you, you’re gonna be able to kick the ass of anyone that pisses you off, I promise you that. Go on inside, now.” 

Lani turned to walk, or rather, trudge, back into the roadhouse. Halfway there, she stopped and looked back. “Aren’t you coming? Ellen let me at her kitchen, so there’s a really good lasagna that should be done soon.”

“I’m gonna go for a run. You go ahead.”

“Jesse, you gotta eat.” She flushed a little. “I mean, I know people expect me to say something like that, but...”

“Why’s that?” Sam asked, bending in a stretch that just killed his still bruised ribs. 

“‘cause I’m fat, stupid. Anyway, just because I’m overweight, that doesn’t mean it’s not still true. You haven’t eaten hardly anything since we got here. I promise, the lasagna is really good. My dad taught me to make it, and his mom taught him, so...y’know, old family recipe and all. Please, Jesse.”

Sam straightened and walked over to her, pulling her close into a tight hug. This close, and with the scent of her sweat in his nose, he was strongly reminded of the night they’d spent together, when he’d helped a completely freaked out Lani get control of her ability to manipulate water. It was almost routine by now; find a new psychic, convince them of his story, help them get rudimentary control, sleep with them. For whatever reason, nearly every single one of them had come on to him, and he hadn’t had many reasons to say no. “First off, you are not fat. You’re curvy, and I happen to like it. And anyway, with the physical training, you’ll probably lose some of that,” he predicted gloomily. She was an absolute delight to sleep with, warm and soft and cuddly. “Second, my eating habits aren’t your concern. Ash is more than enough of a mother hen. And third, I never said I wouldn’t have a piece. I’m going for a run, and I’ll shower and catch a bite when I get back.” He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, all he could reach without bending completely in half. “Now go inside. And don’t forget to stretch out!” He gave her a final squeeze then stepped back, flicking the tip of his finger against her nose before jogging away.

The run wasn’t just an excuse to avoid the communal lunch that he knew would be laid out shortly. He didn’t really need one, since he had no problems simply not joining the others. No, the run allowed him to patrol the borders of Ellen’s property, a lot more land than he’d ever realized before. When he and Ash had begun to look into ways to make the roadhouse safer, they’d found that the roadhouse sat smack in the middle of a hundred acres of raw plains. Plenty of room to work with, as it turned out. The roadhouse now sat smack in the middle of a hundred acres of raw plains–and a Devil’s Trap like the one in Wyoming. Sam liked to check the iron rail ties whenever he could, verifying that nothing had disturbed them. The Trap didn’t cover the entire hundred acres, of course, but it was still plenty big. Big enough to give him a nice long run that brought him back around to the roadhouse in time for lunch to be over. 

He always pulled up to the building with a feeling of vague regret. Running shut his mind down, gave him a period of mental rest that he couldn’t get even in sleep. He always let that near trance state go with reluctance. But having made certain their first line of defense was intact, he had no other excuse to stay out. Ash would come looking if he weren’t back soon, and he really didn’t need the mother hen on his back.

As luck would have it, the first person he ran into when he went inside was Jo. She hadn’t said one word to him since he’d been back, but she’d certainly given him a few speaking looks. She glared at him even as they both twitched towards the kitchen where the sounds of a crying infant could be heard, loud and clear. “It’s about time you got back, Jesse. Or Sam, whatever–hey!”

Sam barely restrained himself from squeezing bruises into her arm where he gripped her. “Jo, I like you. I do. You’ve got more spark than most people. But I changed my name for a reason, and that reason hasn’t changed. My blood relations might still call me that, but nobody else. You can be as pissed as you wanna be, but do not use that name.”

“I..fine. Jesse. Dean thinks there’s something wrong with the baby. Kid hasn’t stopped crying for even a minute for over an hour. Can you check....” She pulled her arm back, biting her lip.

Sam looked towards the kitchen, brow furrowed. “Has he taken Jason off the property lately?”

“Not that I know of. Look, can’t you just check? He sounds so miserable...and the baby does, too.”

“Yeah, alright.” Leaden feet carried him reluctantly to the kitchen. He’d avoided Dean, mostly because Dean was always near John. But if something were wrong with Jason, he’d never forgive himself for not catching it as soon as possible, and he had enough guilt on his shoulders. 

The kitchen was barely leashed chaos. The food was still on the table, indicating that nobody had eaten yet, too caught up in the drama that was Dean with his son. Dean was sitting, pushed back from the table, with Jason cradled in his arms. There was tension in every line of him, and panic in his voice as he crooned to his son. Jason’s face was red, and there were tear tracks down his cheeks, bracketing a mouth wide open to emit his miserable wailing. Every other member of the household, new and old, chattered around the pair, offering speculation and advice. Of them all, Ellen was the most calm, but that wasn’t saying much. Sam could hear her murmur how “Jo never did this. Ain’t never heard a baby cry for so long, and nothing able to calm it down at all. Lord, I ain’t never heard a baby cry like this, period!”

Ash spotted him in the door with Jo peering around his shoulder. “Jesse! It’s about time you got back. Of all the times to be all healthy and shit...can you please tell us what’s wrong with the little dude? I’m ready to shotgun a hit for the poor kid.”

“Try, and I’ll shotgun you!” Dean snapped back. Beside him, John’s hand went to the small of his back where Sam knew a gun resided.

“Well, I can tell you that the bunch of you running around like hamsters on speed probably isn’t helping.” Sam circled the table, avoiding the side with John. It forced Ash, Ellen, and Lani to step back, which he didn’t really care about. “Shut up,” he ordered the kitchen at large. With the expected exception of Jason, they all did. Sam let his hand hover mere inches over Jason’s face, feeling the breath hit his palm with every scream, and cautiously opened his senses. He wasn’t used to doing much more than checking for supernatural residue or influences, so he wasn’t entirely positive he was reading things right. Worse, he’d never tried to read a baby before. Did they even feel things the same way an adult, or even an older child, would? “Okay,” he said finally. “I’m no expert here, but I think he has a belly ache. Plus, he’s scared.”

“Scared of what?” Dean demanded, half standing up. With his senses still wide open, Sam noticed something he otherwise might not have. His brother had a hint of ability himself. Nothing strong, nothing trainable or really useable, but there. He projected his emotions in a way that Sam hadn’t felt from the few other none-psychic people he’d read. It certainly explained a lot of things from his own childhood, at least.

“Calm down, man. There’s no threat here,” Sam promised.

“Ch, no kidding,” Jo scoffed. “You’d be the first with a weapon in hand if there were.” She leaned against the wall, giving him a small smile when he glanced at her.

“Thanks. I think. But, Dean, I mean it. There’s no threat. He’s scared because you’re scared. You...project. You’re pretty loud with it, too. If everybody just calms down, he’ll start to calm down. Otherwise, all I can get from him is that his stomach hurts.” Sam rubbed his own belly, feeling an echo of flatulence, which had to be one of the strangest damn things ever. “He’s gotta fart, man. That’s all. He’s not injured, or cursed, and he doesn’t have any demon blood in him.” Dean jerked, eyes sliding to the side. “Yeah, I’m not stupid, and like I said, you project. He’ll be fine.”

“Have you tried doing the ‘bicycle’ thing with him?” Tony asked, scaring the crap out of everyone there except Jason. They all turned to look at her and she waved. “I called from the front, but nobody heard me, I guess. And once I heard all the commotion back here....”

“Tony!” Lani chirped. “You made it! Um...” She wilted a little under Sam’s–and Ellen’s–stares. “I might have? Maybe called her? Um. It seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“Right. Lani, this isn’t a motel. You don’t get to invite people here willy-nilly,” Sam muttered. Ellen coughed pointedly, and he felt his face flush, just a little. “Yeah, whatever.”  
“Shut up,” Dean ordered. “What did you mean by bicycle thing?”

“Oh, my aunt does daycare. When the babies have gas that they just can’t get rid of, she lays them on their backs, takes their feet, and makes their legs do a cycling motion. She does it in a rhythm. It goes ‘bicycle, bicycle, bicycle, plllbt, ew!’” Tony laughed as she finished miming the process, shrugging when all she got were blank stares. “Hey, it gets everything moving down there, and when you push their knees up towards their chests, it helps push everything out. You might have to do it a few times, but....”

“At this point, I’d paint myself pink and pole dance in the middle of downtown New York at rush hour if I thought it would help,” Dean said fervently. John pushed everything out of the way so that Dean could lay his son out on the table. Everyone watched for a few minutes as he went through multiple rounds of the odd little rhyme, suiting actions to words. Finally, just when Sam could see that his brother was about to give up and probably drive to the hospital, Jason let out a fart bigger than he was. It sounded unpleasantly wet. Almost instantly, Jason’s cries began to taper off, sounding more like disgruntled griping than pained wailing. Even that tapered off to hiccups after a few moments. Dean’s relief was palpable, and filled the room. Everyone broke into relieved laughter and chatter, and Sam gave Tony a thumb’s up. He slipped from the room, not surprised that she followed. She’d appointed herself his left hand woman, Ash being his right hand man.

“Why are you here?” he asked, leading his way down the hall to the bathroom.

“Lani called me. She said you were really upset, not sleeping or eating, and could I come and fix you.” Sam started to open his mouth to snap, but she held up her hand and shook her head. “Her words, Jesse. I just came to see if she was exaggerating, and if so, give her a kick in the ass. But she’s not. Not really.”

“I’m fine.” He started the water for a shower, giving her a pointed look. She just stared back, obviously not about to leave. “Oh, for the...fine. If you wanna watch me shower, that’s fine with me.” He yanked his tank top, t-shirt, and sweatshirt off, all in one go, instantly regretting it when his ribs screamed at him. Tony hissed, stepping close to trail light fingers over the visible bruising. “That’s nothing. Bruises. I did a solo exorcism, Tony, while trying to keep Lani from being turned to mulch. They’ll heal.”

“I know they will. Jesse....why are you afraid of your dad?” Tony’s fingers drifted over his belly, and the portrait her own hands had etched there. “This...the way this is set up. What this means. He was responsible for your second death. And your brother for your first. And now they’re sitting in that kitchen, and you couldn’t get away from them fast enough. You changed your name, even, but you’re still doing everything you can to protect them.”

“Lani’s got a big mouth,” he muttered. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Are you gonna let me shower, or are you gonna feel me up all day?”

“Why don’t we do both?” she suggested, hands dropping from his skin to her jacket. “Then I can kiss all your owies better.”

“Oddly enough, I don’t think that’ll work. I mean, Ash and Lani have both tried it, and yet,” he waved a hand over his ribs. “Still bruised.”

“Well, I might not be able to make them go away...but I’ll make you forget all about them for a while,” she promised, and Sam knew she wasn’t talking about bruises. He went with it anyway.

After, when they were both dressed again, Sam went with her out to the bar area. It was pleasantly deserted, which meant that there was going to be an unpleasant conversation. He fetched a couple of beers anyway while she set up a game of pool. “Out with it,” he ordered, watching her line up her first shot. She broke, shooting him an amused glance as three balls dropped into the pockets. “I don’t care about the game,” he told her irritably. “I’ll forfeit if you like. I just know you’ve got more on your mind, and I’d like to get it over with.”

“Look, I’m just worried about you, is all. You’ve got a lot on your plate, and you never let anyone help. Now you’ve taken on the burden of protecting your brother and his son, plus your father...you’re gonna burn out, Jess. I’m staying to help.”

“The fuck you are! Look, I appreciate the concern, but I’m not having yet another person invading Ellen’s home. This place isn’t a hostel. She welcomed Dean and Jason with open arms, I know that. She made room for my d-dad,” Sam cursed himself when he stumbled over the word. “She’s even permitting Lani to crash in Ash’s room with us. There just isn’t room for another person, and...”

“Well, I’ll find a place nearby, then. Besides, I think it makes a lot of sense. We need a place centrally located that people can get to quickly if we have to call in the troops. Nebraska is pretty central.”

“So’s Chicago,” he shot back.

“Sure, but the cost of housing is just unreal. We’d fit ten, maybe, in my apartment. And then where would the rest go? No, Nebraska is good. Plus, with all this empty land, we should be able to build or add on, make more room.”

“You’re nuts. You know that, right? You’re talking about making this some sort of quasi war headquarters. Tony...”

“Yeah, I am. You said it yourself, something’s starting, and the demons want to make it a war. If Lani was able to come across a genuine demonic possession, they’re stepping up their game. Right?”

“God damnit, yeah. Yeah they are.”

“Then we need to make sure we’re ready.”  
Sam glared at the pool stick in his hand, then set it down, very carefully, on the table. “You know what? Why don’t you go talk this out with Ash and Ellen? I’ve got other things to do, and I’m not up to thinking about this right now. And keep Lani away from me, or she’s likely to get a spanking!” He didn’t wait for her reply, turning and stalking out.

He went straight to the back, and the large storage shed. He flicked on the light, then turned on the small space heater. Boxes filled the back and both sides, but left a decent space in the middle. It currently held a brand new crib, hand made from virgin wood. It was of a simple, but graceful design, and wanted only varnishing. Had Sam been willing to wait, Eli would have done that as well, as he usually did. But like the first crib, this one would gain certain protections inscribed, and the varnish wouldn’t go on until they were all completed. Refusing to think about anything happening up at the house, or any of the people up at the house, he dug out the carving tools he’d used once before and got to work.

It was God only knew how long later when he sensed another presence. He twisted and straightened all at once, carving knife traded for a throwing knife from his boot. John stood in the doorway, hands upraised in peace. “What are you doing here?” he snarled, backing up.

“Sammy...”

“Don’t. Don’t you call me that. My name is Jesse.” Breathing hard, almost panting, he pressed himself against a stack of extra bar stools.

“I wanted to talk. Please, Sa-Jesse. Please.”

“About what?”

“About what I did. I hurt you. I ra...”

“I don’t,” Sam cut in harshly. “I don’t want to talk.”

“I hurt you,” John continued doggedly. “I hurt you, but you’ve got to believe me, I never meant to. I’d die before I willingly hurt either of my sons. And I am more sorry than I can say for what happened.”

“One more word,” Sam promised, “and I’m going to use this. I mean it. You wanna atone? You guard Dean and Jason. Put yourself between anyone or anything that wants to hurt them.”

“I will. I would anyway.”

“Yeah. I figured. He always was your favorite.” Sam shook his head when it looked like John might protest that. “I am done. Get out and leave me be. That’s all I want from you. That’s all you can give me.”

Face utterly ravaged, John backed out. Sam held it for a couple minutes, hopefully long enough for him to get back to the main building. But then his control was just gone, and he had to lunge for the door and scramble around to the side as his body betrayed him once again.

He wasn’t nearly as surprised as he thought he should be to feel Ash wrap supporting arms around him. “You psychic now?” he asked between heaves.

“Naw, man. Just know you, is all. And I saw him coming in, looking like somebody had died, so....” Ash handed him a bottle of water when he’d finished, thankfully much sooner than he had the first time. Sam rinsed and spit a few times, washing away the worst of the taste of bile. “You gotta talk to me, man. Please. I swear to God, I won’t breathe a word to anyone.” Sam shook his head, and Ash shook him. “Damn it, Jesse! You can’t keep this bottled up anymore. You aren’t sleeping, you aren’t eating, and any unexpected contact with him has you puking your guts up. This is literally killing you, and I’m not going to just sit by and do nothing.”

“I-I can’t. Ash, please...”

“C’mon, man. Up.” Not giving him a choice, Ash hauled him to his feet and helped him back inside the shed. He fussed around, getting Sam settled on a box, finding his jacket where Sam had tossed it earlier and wrapping him up in it. Then he sat at Sam’s feet, hands going to his knees. “Jesse. You need to talk about this. It’s killing you, and I won’t let that happen. So how about this? I tell you what I’ve figured out or guessed, and you fill in the blanks?”

“What do you mean, ‘figured out’?” Sam felt his gorge rising again, ready to expel the few sips of water he’d taken. “What do you know, Ash?”

“I know that in two years of having sex, you’ve never let me top. In fact, if I touch your ass at all, you freak out. You have a hard time being on your back, and forget having your legs open if you are. I know that anyone surprising you from behind is liable to get seriously hurt.” Sam started shaking his head, not wanting to hear this. Not wanting to know that Ash knew these things, that he could possibly know that. But Ash just gripped his knees harder and continued, relentless. “I know that for months after you came here, you had a habit of showering multiple times a day, to the point where your skin was dried out and cracking in places. I know that you have nightmares almost every night, and sometimes you beg during them ‘daddy, please stop, it hurts’, and you come up swinging when you wake up. I know....”

“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, Ash, or I swear to fucking god....” Sam shoved, sending Ash sprawling on his back. He stood and backed away, ending up back in the corner, shaking so hard he could hardly stand. He met Ash’s eyes, and he couldn’t deny the knowledge in them, nor the compassion. Somehow, Ash’s knowing meant that he couldn’t deny to himself what had happened. Not anymore. “He raped me,” he said hoarsely. “He raped me, Ash.”

“I know. It wasn’t your fault, man. You have to know that.”

“But it wasn’t his fault either. It wasn’t,” Sam insisted. 

Ash held out a hand, coaxing Sam over. Rather than pull Ash up, Sam sat beside him, clinging to that hand like a lifeline. “Tell me,” Ash said. “Tell me, I’ll listen.”

Sam couldn’t meet his eyes, so focused instead on the way their fingers curled around each other. “Dean had just dumped me for Cassie. I was–messed up already, y’know? Just...I couldn’t decide if I was angry or hurt or what the fuck. I wanted to call and scream at him, and I wanted to cry and just...whatever. I spent all but my last three dollars and forty-one cents on the bus ticket to Portage, Wisconsin. I had six knives and two guns, my laptop and my clothes. I wasn’t meant to need anything else, because my dad was meant to be waiting on the other end. Only when I got off the bus, he wasn’t there, and I knew something was wrong. I called and he didn’t answer, so I started walking. He’d been on a hunt, and I had known that, but not what he was hunting. It wasn’t something huge, or he’d have called us.” He stopped, swallowing hard, and Ash tightened his fingers around Sam’s. “I found the motel, and his room, and I...I mean, I was being careful. I listened at the door, I checked things out as best I could, I was armed. And when I opened the door, I saw my dad on the bed, and there was this thing above him, like something out of a movie. Filmy and shapeless and see-through, pressed up against him, and I could see that he was h-hard. So I shot it. Twice, with blessed iron, and it kind of curled up before taking off. It went out the vent, because there was salt in front of the window and door, and that was its only way in or out. But still, I went to the window to see if I could see it leaving the building, and dad knocked me out from behind.” He rubbed his head with his free hand, remembering the lump beside his temple.

“It bit him, didn’t it?” Ash murmured, drawing him back to the present.

“Yeah. And when I woke up...it was already happening. He was on t-top of me. I-inside,” Sam forced out. “And he wouldn’t stop, Ash. And he was so fucking strong...I fought. I wasn’t just going to let him do that to me. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t get him off of me, couldn’t get loose, and fighting just made it hurt so much worse. I-I stopped fighting after a while. And I just...god, Ash. I begged. I begged him to stop, but he wasn’t even hearing me. He wasn’t even there, it was just his body, and he didn’t stop. And I’ve never had something hurt like that before, and sometimes I can still feel it, ripping me open.” He squeezed his eyes shut, hand fisting in his hair, drawing in several ragged sounding breaths. “When he was done...he just jumped off of me. Zipped his fucking pants, and yelled at me. Wanted to know what I’d been thinking, coming into the room. Told me to go back to Dean, that we’d never worked well together anyway, and he had to get started on tracking that thing down. Then he threw a wad of cash on the bed and went to take a shower.”

“Jesus, Jesse,” Ash breathed, sounding horrified. “What did you do?”

“I-I took it. What choice did I have? I had no money, no credit cards. It wasn’t like I could stay there, was it? I took it, and I got on the first bus out of town. But I had a concussion, and I was confused and in pain all over the place, and I didn’t notice that I was bleeding. By the time I got off the bus, my jeans were soaked through, and I left a puddle behind.” He laughed suddenly, an ugly, bitter sound. “What a fucking epitaph that would be: Here Lies Samuel Winchester, Saved a Few Lives and Bled Out From His Ass. R.I.P”  
“Morbid, Jesse.”

“But true. I died that day, Ash. I died, and I lost everything I’d worked so hard for....and now he wants to come in here and say he’s sorry, get me to hit him a couple times maybe. All so he can feel better,” he spat, yanking his hand back so he could hug his knees. “If he’d really been worried about ME, he’d have been out there looking for me. Bobby was, and even Dean kept calling certain contacts to see if they’d seen me. But not him. Oh no, he couldn’t be bothered to climb out of a bottle long enough to make a single damn phone call to see if I’d turned up anywhere. If they hadn’t gotten me revived....if I’d stayed dead, nobody would have ever found me. Nobody would have known what happened. And I think part of him wanted it that way. Wanted me to never resurface, so that he’d never have to step outside his own guilt. Never have to acknowledge the real truth of what he did.” He scrubbed his face against his knees, then sank his teeth through the denim. The dull pain helped him focus, helped to calm his panic-quick heartbeat. “I saw that man possessed once. By the Dead Fred himself. And when Dead Fred was torturing my brother to death, and Dean begged dad to help–he did. He managed to fight hard enough that Dead Fred lost control for a moment. Just a second, but it let me get free and grab the Colt. For Dean he could fight off a possession by the strongest demon anyone’s seen in centuries.”

“But for you, he couldn’t fight off the effects of a weak-assed succubus’s venom? Is that what you’re thinking?”

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s not the same thing, and you know it,” Ash argued. “Jesse...Sam.” Sam jerked his head up, staring at his friend in shock. “When a person is possessed, they lose control of their body, but their mind is still in there somewhere. Sometimes completely cut off, sometimes watching but unable to do anything. But with the poison–that effects the mind more than the body. It really doesn’t mean that he loves you any less than Dean.”

“What the hell do you know about it, Ash? You don’t know him, you don’t know Dean, and you don’t know the Winchesters. Dean has always been the favored son, whichever timeline you’re talking about. Dean is the favorite. He’s always been the favorite. Just for instance, when I left for the normal, apple pie life, I got disowned. Told to never come back. Dean does it? And dad shows up there for fucking Christmas. So don’t tell me....”

“Fine! Maybe he does. Maybe he does love Dean more than you. You’re right, I don’t know. But I do know that there wasn’t a bit of his mind left that he could have fought the effects with, Jesse. And giving in when you realized that you couldn’t fight him off didn’t make you culpable. It was sensible, and probably what kept you from getting hurt badly enough that you bled out before you reached the bus station.”

“Jesus, Ash!” He got up to pace, back and forth, back and forth, arms tight around his stomach. “I’m not...okay, I might not be alright letting somebody top me anymore, or surprise me from behind. But I know the r-rape wasn’t my fault. Okay? That’s not...but he treated me like last night’s whore on the morning after! He threw money at me and told me to get out, and I did! I have never in my life felt dirty the way I did when I picked up that cash. And then in the hospital, all the nurses were giving me these looks, all full of pity, and the doctor was disgusted, and the cops....Jesus, Ash. They weren’t anything like the ones from Law and Order. Condescending bastards were acting like it was my fault. Like I’d asked for it. As if, as a guy, I wasn’t really a victim. And that’s all his fault. That’s on his head. So he doesn’t get to come in here and be absolved with a sad look and gruff, manly apology! Letting me hit him a couple of times isn’t going to make up for that. Make up for the feeling of complete worthlessness that I carry around with me like Marley’s chains. It won’t, but I know that if I start that, if I let myself hit him, I won’t stop. God, I almost threw a knife through his throat, and....”

Ash stood up and grabbed him around the waist, halting his nearly frantic movements. He carefully pried Sam’s arms down to his sides, then pressed one of his own slender hands over his lower belly. Right where a phantom ache, two years old, had reawakened with a vengeance the last few days. His other hand he slid up, tangling his fingers in Sam’s too long hair, before kissing him. Gently, lips clinging but not parting, tongue lapping delicately but not invading. Sam started to cry, great, gulping sobs that took the strength from his legs and had him folding in on Ash.

November 20th, 2005

Sam glanced over at Ash, sleeping with his face mushed in between two pillows, illuminated by the light of the red lava lamp. Shaking his head, Sam rolled out of the nest and padded quietly out of the room, glancing at Lani on the way. She was sleeping as peacefully as Ash, one arm hanging off the side of the twin bed and snoring lightly, thanks to the head cold she’d come down with. They would both be pissed if they woke up to find him out of bed. Or, more accurately, not sleeping. But as far as he was concerned, three in the morning was an ideal time to be awake. Regardless of how much sleep he’d gotten.

He’d expected the kitchen to be empty, since he’d heard Ellen go by on her way to bed about half an hour ago. But the light over the sink was on when he rounded the corner, illuminating his brother. Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, feeding Jason, and looked up the moment Sam paused in the doorway. He nodded slightly, no hint of anger or censure in his face, so Sam nodded back and continued on to the fridge. “You’re up early,” Dean commented softly. “Hungry?”

“Not really. Just–restless. Can’t sleep, so I figured I’d make myself useful.” He scanned the contents of the big refrigerator, feeling an itch between his shoulder blades that told him Dean was watching him. “Are you hungry? I could make you something,” he offered. 

“Nah, I’m good. Just feeding Jason. He doesn’t eat as much at one sitting as he used to. I don’t think he likes formula as much as....” Dean trailed off, and Sam hunched against what went unsaid. Cassie had breast fed, then. “But he’s stopped getting the belly aches, and he does sleep longer at a crack, thanks to the new crib. Thanks for that.”

“Was the least I could do,” Sam muttered. He bent and started pulling out onions and carrots, certain there was plenty on hand for a thick beef stew. “Beef stew sound good to you for later? It’s pretty cold out....”

“You cook? Since when?” 

Sam shifted uncomfortably. “A while. I can only do a few things, but they’re pretty good. So, stew? Or I could do a chili, maybe.”

“Nah, stew sounds good.”

“Good.” Sam dug a few potatoes out of the bin and started washing them. Over the sound of the water, he heard an odd thumping sound. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Dean patting Jason’s back. Pretty hard, from what he could see. “Sheesh, man,” he muttered before he could think better of it. Dean cocked an eyebrow at him and he shrugged sheepishly and nodded at the baby. “He’s still pretty little. Aren’t you wacking him just a little hard?”

“Looks like it, don’t it? Freaked me right the hell out when the nurse was teaching us how to burp him.” As if on cue, Jason let out a very hearty belch, and Sam felt his lips twitch. “That’s my boy,” Dean crooned. “Nice one, little man.”

“He sure takes after you.”

“Oh, like you’ve never let out an echoer before!”

“Maybe,” Sam hedged. He turned back to the food he had laid out. “But who do you think taught me?” Behind him, Dean laughed, and Sam felt his shoulders relax. 

They were quiet for a while, Dean just cuddling the baby while Sam washed and peeled and chopped, tossing everything into Ellen’s big stew pot. The smell of the meat when he browned it made his mouth water, so Sam kept a couple chunks off to the side to finish cooking while he added the browned meat to the pot with everything else. When it was all simmering nicely, he started to clean up, in between bites of juicy beef. 

“So...” Dean started, sounding uncertain. “Uh, how goes training?”

“Oh man!” Giving up on the cleaning just that quick, Sam took a seat across the table from Dean. “She’s...enthusiastic. I dunno if I’m just training her wrong, or if she really does have two left feet and two right arms. I haven’t seen anything so uncoordinated since that newborn foal when I was, what? Nine?”

“Yeah, I remember that. You watched the thing being born with this weird look on your face, then asked me how it got in the mare’s belly.” Dean snickered, shaking his head. “You were completely horrified when I explained the facts of life to you.”

“You drew pictures, Dean,” Sam pointed out reasonably. “Very big pictures, and I was still at the ‘girls have cooties’ stage.”

“Yeah. But I’m sure Lani will catch on if you just keep at it. How’s her aim?”

“You’re joking, right? I’m not putting a gun in her hands until I’m reasonably sure she won’t drop it. I mean, when she sees one, she looks at it like you look at rats.”

“And she wants to be a hunter?” Sam just shrugged, not having an answer for that. Shooting things was a fact of a hunter’s life. Lani would either learn to deal with guns, carrying, using, and maintaining them, or she wouldn’t hunt. “You’re going to have to get her over that somehow.”

“No kidding. She picked a hell of a thing to get fussy over.” Dean raised an eyebrow in question. “Well, she knows there’s a lot of lying involved. Pretending to be something you’re not, just to get the information you need to figure things out and stop it. She knows it’s life on the road with crap food, crap motels, and no immediate support system to bail your ass out if you get into trouble. The nearest person that might be willing to help will probably be hours or days away. And she decides that it’s the guns that bother her.” Sam thought it was funny, anyway. 

“Oh, now. You’re forgetting the digging up the corpses, and tromping through the woods, and getting pushed into swamps, and the occasional exploding things that get all over you and are nearly impossible to get out of clothes. She know all about that stuff?” Dean asked with a small smile.

Sam traced a gloomy finger in circles on the table top. “Yeah, actually. Ash especially likes to tell her about those parts. And it’s still the guns.” Dean laughed at him quietly, cautious to not wake his son, but with real amusement in his tone. “Oh, thanks a lot. Jerk.”

“Ah, quit whining, bitch.” For a moment, just a single, precious moment, it was like things had never changed. Sam felt his lips curving in a smile, warmth blossoming in his chest. Then Jason gurgled in his sleep, lips smacking as he nursed on a dream-bottle. Dean looked down with a tender light in his eyes, breaking the moment. Sam clung to a scrap of that warmth, though. He wasn’t about to willingly give up a single thing of his brother. 

“I should let you get him to bed,” he murmured, getting to his feet. His hand twitched, wanting to reach out and feel that baby fine hair sticking up in tufts over Dean’s arm. Dean shifted, frowning up at him. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels as he waited for some reply.

“Yeah, probably. Hey, are you...feeling alright, dude? I don’t see you much,” Dean trailed off, frowning even harder. “I could help with Lani’s training, if you wanted.”

“Nah, man. Me’n Ash got it covered. And I’m fine. Just...restless, like I said.”

“Yeah. Y’know, Jason usually eats about this time every night. If you’re ever feeling restless again, I mean. I wouldn’t object to the company,” Dean told him, too casual for Sam to read if that was a request, an offer, or duty fulfilled.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sam headed towards the door, pausing to squeeze Dean’s shoulder briefly on his way. His fingers brushed the smooth, sensitive skin of Dean’s neck as he did, and his whole body seized with want. He forced it down and away and kept walking. 

When he crawled back into the nest with Ash, he ran his fingers over his lips, licking them, and thought he could taste the salt-sweet tang of Dean’s night sweat. For the first time since he’d returned to the roadhouse with Lani, he managed to sleep a full five hours, rather than the one or two at a crack.

Thanksgiving dawned bright and clear and crisp. Sam wasn’t all that enthused with it. Lani had been chattering almost non-stop about helping Ellen put on the feast for everyone, which meant that her training was effectively suspended for the day. There was no way that any of the women currently in the place would let him drag Ash off somewhere, so he was stuck with nothing to do. And with the expectation of attending the big meal at lunch time, the ‘family meal’, before the roadhouse doors officially opened for the day to allow the hunters that cared to seek refuge and good food and at least a facsimile of a holiday. 

Sam couldn’t bring himself to even pretend to be excited. Not with the situation as a whole weighing him down, not with his brother looking somewhat drawn and pale, and cuddling his son close with a pained look in his eyes. The first real holiday since Cassie’s death, Jason’s first without her. In the face of that, Lani’s bright laughter seemed obscene, and the scent of turkey and stuffing and sweet potatoes almost as bad as grave-rot. It all made Sam twitchy, wanting to do something, make things better, and not a single thing he could do. He didn’t do helpless very well.

Added onto all of that, was the fact that he was going to have to be present at lunch. With everyone, including John, at the big, scarred up kitchen table. He wasn’t worried about controlling his temper, and he wasn’t worried about tossing his cookies. At least where anyone could see him. But just being in the same room, even when he had the time to prepare himself, would be hard. Ash spent the entire morning attempting to distract him, keep him from climbing the walls. Sam couldn’t tell you whether he was all that successful or not. 

Lunch rolled around, much as Sam had hoped that there would be some minor disaster that would prevent it, and everyone was called to the table. There, he witnessed what his friends probably thought were extremely subtle maneuvers: Tony edging around, ‘encouraging’ John to the farthest end of the table, while Ash did the same to Ellen, thereby sandwiching John between Ellen and Tony. Dean was permitted to sit beside Tony, with Jo beside him. Then Sam was pushed into a seat beside her, leaving Ash and Lani to create a three person buffer between Sam and John. And the angles were such that when he looked up, John wasn’t in his direct line of sight. Sam could appreciate the effort, even if he thought they were wasted. He wasn’t going to be able to eat, and he wasn’t going to be able to relax, until he was away.   
The meal started out agonizing and went downhill from there. Lani’s bright chatter, about family meals past, and her call home to her parents, and how she liked making apple pie from scratch rather than from the canned pie filling tapered off to a rather embarrassed staring at her plate when no one but Tony and Jo really responded. Dean was morose, Ash was tense and on guard, Ellen was wound tighter than a drum with the obvious tension in her kitchen, and John...John slumped in his seat like a kicked mongrel. When Sam knew perfectly well that he was capable of conversing with everyone in that room save for himself and Ash. It was Sam’s presence that was putting the crimp into the meal, and he had no idea how to go about fixing that, since they wouldn’t allow him to leave.

He picked at his food, struggling to find something to say to at least lessen the tension. Jo beat him to it, though. “So, Lani, I’ve seen you training with Jesse. How’s that going for you?” she asked, leaning around him a little to look at the other woman.

“Oh man,” Lani groaned. “I suck! I’m so uncoordinated it’s a wonder I can walk!” She laughed, shaking her head ruefully over her own lack of skill.

Sam slid an arm around her shoulders. “Aw, sweetheart, it’s not as bad as all that. Uh, much. You’ll get it, you just have to be more at home in your own skin.” He glanced over at Jo. “I don’t suppose you’d want to help out once in a while? I think it might be helpful if she started out against someone closer to her own height.”

“Well...I suppose. So long as you don’t use the psychic thing against me,” she said, wagging a friendly finger at Lani. 

Lani looked blank. “The psychic thing? Uh, I kind of, um, control water. I don’t see how...”

Around the table, nearly every gaze, shocked, swung to her, and she ducked her head, face turning red. Sam rubbed his eyes. “Sweetheart, are you telling me that you can’t think how that could be used as a weapon? Honestly?”

“Well, I mean...holy water. Sure. But against, like, anything else? Unless I try to drown someone, I don’t see what good water can do against anything.”

“Ah. Well, honey, if you look at things the right way, near everything can be a weapon.” He held up a fork full of mashed potatoes. “Even these potatoes.”

“How? Poison?” she asked skeptically.

Feeling mischievous, he scooped the gloppy stuff onto his finger and flicked it lightly at her face. She gasped in outrage, pawing at her eyes to clear them so she could see again, and glared at him when she succeeded. “That’s how,” he told her, humor in his voice. “You couldn’t see. I could have done anything while you were blind, even though it was just a few seconds. I could have run away, if that’s what was needed, or I could have found a second weapon to hurt or kill you. It’s all in how you think, how creative you can be.”  
Lani accepted the paper towel Ellen passed to her and finished wiping the mess off her face before replying. “Okay, fine. But water? There’s not that many ways you can use it to fight, Jess. Seriously.”

“Wanna bet on that?”

“Lani,” Dean said suddenly, “I wouldn’t take that bet if I were you.” He smirked at Sam, humor lighting his eyes. Sam automatically smiled back, glad to see the sadness gone, at least for the moment. “I’ve known him his whole life. Trust me, when he gets that tone, you might as well just give in.” 

She eyed them both doubtfully. “But...I would think I’m a better judge of what I can make water do than Jesse. I mean, I’m the one that controls it.”

“You’re not the only one, though,” Sam reminded her. “Not while I’m anywhere near you.”

“Say what now?” Dean asked, a hint of a hard edge to his tone. He didn’t like not knowing things.

Sam opened his mouth to explain, then paused, eyes cutting to John. It was only a moment, barely noticeable, but when he looked back at Dean, his brother was flicking his eyes back and forth between him and John with lips thinned in anger. “I don’t just have the visions and things,” he explained, ignoring the anger. “I’m kinda like Rogue. I can tap into and use the abilities of any other psychic kid within range. So right now, I can control water like Lani.”

“And fire, like me,” Tony said, eyes hard on John. A threat.. Sam cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him even as he nodded his agreement. 

Dean raised his eyebrows at Tony, completely unimpressed with her threat. Then his eyes focused back on Sam, and his anger melted away, replaced by a smirk. “Just like Rogue, huh?” He pitched his dinner roll at Sam’s head. “Always said you were a chick.”

“Oh, too funny, Dean. Jerk.”

“Bitch.” Sam couldn’t stop the grin that split his face for a moment, the rest of the table–the people–falling away in the face of the familiar ritual of endearments masquerading as insults. When he reluctantly turned his attention back to Lani, she was staring at him with her mouth opened a little, surprise written in every line of her.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, brow furrowing. She nodded, closing her mouth with a little click of teeth. “So, you wanna bet or not?”

She visibly hesitated, glancing between him and Dean, squirming under the regard of everyone at the table. “What are the terms?” she asked finally, showing the first real hint of common sense since Sam had known her. Her enthusiasm usually precluded it.  
Sam leaned over her, putting his lips to her ear. “One week,” he whispered. “If I win, I get a week of blowjobs whenever, wherever, I want. If you win, you get a week of me eating out that pretty, pink pussy whenever, wherever, you want.” She flushed, skin going hot against his lips, pretty much making his attempt at discretion worthless. But she nodded, and he straightened again. “Alright then. We’ll go outside after lunch.”

“O-okay,” she squeaked.

“Kids,” Ellen said mildly. “Ya’ll be sure to take it far enough out back that my place doesn’t get damaged. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said, winking at her. “Wanna be out of sight anyway.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” Dean wanted to know.

“We’re keeping our abilities a secret from the general population. With the exception of the people in this room, plus Bobby, we aren’t letting it get out. Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about us, now would we?” Sam thought about Gordon, and about Gordon going after Lani or Tony or any of his kids, really. Wondered if it would be so terrible of him to take precautions against that quarter. The sound of a baby’s wavering cry emitted from the small receiver in Dean’s pocket, prompting Dean to jump up from the table. Sam went back to poking at his food, forcing down the occasional small bite until his brother came back carrying his snuffling son. 

The meal broke up soon after that, and Sam wasted no time in dragging Lani out the back door. They were both dressed in sweats against the freezing chill, and Sam suspected that Ash would be following them out back in the van pretty quick. That was fine, it’d be good to have a warm shelter for breaks.

He found what he thought would be a decent spot for what he had planned. Just a dip in the land, shielded from view by distance, stubby trees, and a slight rise in the land that one could term a hill if one were feeling generous. But the late season rains had gathered into a puddle there, currently frozen, and the couple of weak snowfalls they’d had had left an even dusting over the ground. Lani looked around, and it was obvious from her skeptical look that she didn’t see any of what Sam did. He was beginning to realize that he didn’t need to train her body. Or not just that. He needed to train her mind. When she started to see the potential in anything around her, that’s when he’d know she was really on her way to being a hunter. “How,” she asked, confirming his suspicions, “are we meant to have a psychic water fight with no water?”

“Lani, look around you. What do you see?”

“Dead grass, ice, snow, and tiny trees. But not one drop of water.”

“Oh yeah? So what’s ice made of?” he prompted, shaking his head over her incredulous look. “Lani, you know Tony controls fire. She can create it out of thin air, or control a fire already burning. She decides on its temperature, whether it’s going to be no hotter than a candle, or as hot as lava. It’s all in what she decides, what she wills it to be. The same goes for you. Now, you can decide that the water around you be frozen or just this side of boiling, if that’s what you want.” He mentally ordered the snow around them to lift into the air. He was admittedly clumsy with it, but practice with other abilities made him quick to adapt to this one. “What you can do with water,” he said, slowly forming the snow into a parade of silly shapes, “is limited only by your own mind. It bows to your will.” He melted the snow, leaving him with a thin stream of water circling around him.

Her brow furrowed, eyes completely serious as she allowed that to tick over in her mind. As he’d hoped, once he’d pointed out the possibilities, she was more than eager to run with them. From all around them, thin wisps of snow rose from the ground, until she had a swirling white shield. Then she smiled, laughed, and struck out with a snow whip. The battle was on.

Sam dodged the whip and returned his own hit, hooking her ankle with a water vine and jerking her feet out from under her. She landed with an “oof!” but was quick to respond with a volley of ice missiles. They shattered against the shield that Sam was quick to form.

They both got lost in the fight. As Lani became more creative, she also grew more bold. Willing to use, if not damaging force, then certainly bruising force, not pulling her strikes at all. Control of the water came to her as naturally as breathing. Sam acknowledged, in a rare moment that he had to think, that it was only the fact that he’d been fighting his whole life, and was a hundred times sneakier, that was keeping him from getting his ass kicked. The realization was tinged with a glow of pride.

It was the sound of his brother’s voice that brought the spar to a halt. Sam and Lani both turned towards the sound, allowing the water to re-form into snow and settle gently to the ground, as they eyed the newcomers. Ash had, indeed, driven the van out to them, and he was perched in the back with a blanket around his shoulders and the little battery heater going full blast beside him. Ash did not like the cold. Dean was standing in the lee of the doors while Tony leaned against the side, looking amused. “Dean?” Sam cocked his head, wondering what had brought his brother out to watch.

“Dude, that was some awesome shit you two were doing. Which one of you is the winner?” Dean glanced back and forth between them, a smirk playing around his lips.

Sam glanced at Lani and they both shrugged. “Neither. We’re about even, I guess.”

“Huh. So...can you still fight without using fancy psychic mojo? Or have you gotten soft?”

Sam slung an arm over Lani’s shoulders to guide her to the van. She seemed a little self conscious, a little bewildered, by all the attention, and willingly tucked herself beside Tony. “Oh,” Sam said casually when she was safely out of the way. “I think I can still manage a move or two.” He launched himself at Dean almost joyfully, and was met halfway. Immediately, they began to trade punches and kicks, filling the air with the sharp cracks of violence.  
By unspoken consent, they moved gradually away from the van and its occupants, not wanting anyone else to get hurt in the heat of the moment. Dean was out of practice, and Sam was underweight and seriously short on sleep and food, which put them at about evenly matched. Sam wasn’t sure how long it went on, but it ended with him flat on his back beneath Dean. He stared up at his brother, both of them sweaty and breathing hard. Dean stared back at him, the heat of the fight subtly changing to a different kind of heat. Sam felt him grow hard against his belly, and his eyes widened in reaction. “Sammy...” Dean murmured, low and wanting.

Anger and a sort of sick despair filled Sam then. He knocked Dean’s pinning arm out to the side with more force than necessary and rolled after, rising to pin Dean with one hand. He drew his other hand back and drove it forward, pulling the strike at the last second before it actually crushed his brother’s wind pipe. “I win,” he gritted out. Dean gaped up at him, erection thankfully wilting. Sam rolled to his feet and walked away, leaving Dean to get himself up. 

Ash was on his feet, eyes narrowed and slender frame tense and ready for action. He knew something had happened, but not what. Likewise, Tony and Lani were alert, although the two of them were visibly bewildered. Sam opened his mouth to growl out–something. But an all too familiar itch behind his eyes started up, making his priority to take a seat. He didn’t quite make it. He’d been keeping such a tight reign on his abilities lately, suppressing them the best he could. But the death visions wouldn’t be denied. They were always painful, but the harder they had to work to get through his mental blocks, the more painful they were. This one, he could tell as his legs folded, was going to be excruciating.

* He was in the woods. No, he was next to the woods, walking on the shoulder of the road, and just passing a sign that said ‘Welcome To Jackson Heights, Population 342'. There was no wind, but the skeletal trees rustled to his right. He looked around, but saw nothing. Looked up, and saw only the moon, not yet full, hanging heavy in the middle of a clear night sky. He kept walking, and the trees rustled again, this time on his left. He didn’t stop again. He was at the edge of town, a bar’s tacky red neon sign was visible just ahead. He quickened his pace, and a growl sounded just behind him. Rather than run, he turned. Ivory white fangs stood out in a jet black face, dripping with saliva. Fetid breath washed over his face with each growl, and glowing orange-yellow eyes blinked with malicious amusement.

He didn’t even have time to scream. *

Sam blinked through pain hazed eyes at the faces swimming above his own. His back was cradled against something warm, and there was a hand stroking through his hair, soothing the nauseating pain with every pass. He focused on Ash. “Jackson Heights, population 342. Black dog.”

“When?” Ash asked, calm and businesslike. 

“Three to four days before the full moon.”

“I’m on it.” Ash turned his attention over Sam’s shoulder. “Get him in the back. He needs dark and quiet. And painkillers, if you can get him to take any.”

Sam was confused for a moment, not knowing who Ash was talking to. Then he realized that he could smell leather, oil, and gunpowder, all overlaid on top of a sweet musk: Dean’s scent. He wasn’t given an opportunity to decide how he felt about that. Dean helped him to his feet, practically lifting him, really, and half carried him to the van. Sam ended up curled against his brother, half on and half off his lap, closer than Sam thought he’d ever be to Dean ever again.

“Where’s your first aid kit, Sammy?” Dean asked, keeping his voice low and even, one hand going back to its soothing stroking through Sam’s hair.

“‘m not takin’ anythin’.”

“Dude, your nose is bleeding ‘cause of this vision or whatever. Take something.”

“No,” Sam said, sounding petulant even to his own ears. “Weak stuff don’ work. Strong stuff messes with m’ head.”

“You’d rather be in pain than a little loopy?” Dean’s voice rose to a strangled shout, making Sam wince and try to curl away.

“Yes,” he hissed.

“Stubborn son of a bitch.” Dean didn’t press him any further. He just pulled Sam close again and buffered him as much as he could against the bumpy ride back to the roadhouse. If Sam had hurt even a little less, he wouldn’t have allowed it. It was the worst sort of tease, and one he didn’t have much of a defense against.

Still, it wasn’t until the sound of several agitated voices reached him that he made himself rouse from the almost trance that he’d let himself fall into. Lani, of course, and Tony, no doubt scared for him. It sounded like they’d gone ahead and roused Ellen and Jo as well. But it was the sound of John’s voice, more than all the others, that really did it. Sam forced himself upright, head swimming, stomach churning, and vision gray around the edges. He met Dean’s eyes only briefly, unable to maintain the contact in the face of the confusion, anger and hurt darkening his brother’s gaze. “Why won’t you talk to me, Sammy?” 

“I don’t know what to say.” Somewhat alarmed over how close the voices (John’s voice) had gotten, Sam slid to the end and pushed open the doors. Once standing, he maintained his footing only through pure stubbornness. Walking, however, was out of the question until Ash appeared and got an arm around his waist. Together, they got him past the cluster of worried people, with Ash very kindly keeping himself between Sam and John.

Getting to their room was a relief; the familiar scent of pot mixed with old sex combining with the dim light eased a lot of the tension from his shoulders. Ash helped him down onto the nest, carefully tucking one of the feather pillows beneath his head. “I wish you’d take something, man,” he fretted.

“I–look. You find where we’re goin’. I’ll sleep on the way. If that don’t help, I’ll take something then,” Sam offered.

“I want you rested and clear headed, Jess. Or you aren’t going anywhere near a Black Dog,” Ash warned him. He thumbed away a trickle of blood from beneath Sam’s nose, then got up to settle at the computers. Sam wanted to close his eyes and sleep the pain away, but there wasn’t much point in that. They’d be leaving just as soon as Ash had their destination, which wouldn’t take long at all.

Less than half an hour after sitting, Ash got up and started to pack. Lani was let into the room to pack, with strict instructions to keep her voice down. Normally, Sam would have helped, but that just wasn’t going to happen this time. Ash would pitch a fit if he tried, and he wasn’t going to push it. He considered himself lucky that Ash wasn’t trying to convince him to wait on the hunt.

Even with Ash cooperating, leaving wasn’t easy. Noone was happy about Sam heading off on a hunt when he could hardly stand. But after much yelling, a few threats, and some kicked furniture, Sam made it out to the van. Just as soon as he didn’t feel like his eyes were exploding, he was going to call Ellen and let her know how unhappy all that noise had made him.

Ash jumped in, having run the gauntlet with him, looking ruffled and out of sorts. Lani climbed in beside him, and from the little that Sam could see, was ready to hurt someone. Ash started the van, carefully navigating around the creative parking job in the lot to get to the road. Sam didn’t bother to wait until they’d really left. His head hurt in a way that he couldn’t really describe to anyone, like his brains were trying to liquefy, and he wasn’t the masochist people seemed to think. As long as they were moving, he felt safe enough to medicate. His hand darted out from the nest of blankets cradling him and returned with a thin joint from their emergency stash. He lit up, the smell catching Ash’s and Lani’s attention. Ash snorted at him, pure exasperation. Lani gaped at him in ‘Just Say No’ outrage.

December 27th, 2005

Sam gaped as Ash maneuvered the van around haphazardly parked vehicles. The roadhouse was...changed. It was no longer a single, rundown structure on the side of a road. There was now a half a dozen mobile homes framing it, one of which was right up against the side of the building. That one had a sign proclaiming ‘Tony’s Tattoos and Trinkets’. 

Sam was going to kill her. He really was.

“When the fuck did all this happen?” he growled, climbing out of the van to wave at the collection. “Huh? Jesus, Ellen’s gotta be pissed.”

“Dude.” Ash got out and gave him a light smack on the back of the head. “Do you really think any of it was done without her knowing and giving the A-okay? If you’d ever let me tell you anything, you’d know what the hell was going on.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Are you telling me that this,” and he waved his hand again, “is Tony’s idea of turning this place into a war headquarters?” he hissed. 

Lani kicked him on her way past. “Ash is right; you shoulda listened before now,” she tossed back, hips swinging in time with her hair. There was definitely a new strut to her walk, ever since she’d made her first kill. It worried Sam almost as much as it amused him.

“You’re cruising for a spanking yet, girl,” he called after her. She merely tossed her hair in response. “So give me a bullet point summary, man. This was not what I pictured when she brought the idea up.”

“Yeah, well, you left the project completely up to the rest of us, so you don’t get to bitch.” Ash leaned up against the van, hands shoved into his coat pockets. “It’s pretty simple, dude. We needed more space to house psi-kids and hunters. It’s winter, so actual construction is pretty out of the question. Tony contacted one of your kids that’s richer than God, and bam! Mobile homes, nice ones, to make do until we get something more permanent built.” He jabbed a finger towards the home with the sign out front. “Tony’s set up a nice little side business, tattooing protective symbols on whoever asks, plus all the kids we’ve sent to her. According to Ellen, the hunters that pass through are fairly excited by her being here. Apparently, it’s kinda tough to get certain things inked into you, complete with any accompanying chants or rituals or whatever, in your average ink shop.”

“Huh. Hadn’t thought of that.”

“Obviously. Now, she’s got all your kids pretty well organized. Which ones are willing to fight, which ones aren’t, and all of them monitoring their local areas for strange shit, which is dutifully reported to Tony. Who passes it on to either us, Bobby and the Trio, or Ellen, so that it’s all getting checked out.”

And sure, Sam could attest to that. He currently had a sprained wrist from their last job. Although that was more from Lani being unexpectedly in the cemetery with them, rather than at the motel where they’d told her to stay. “I just can’t help but feel that certain...liberties, have been taken with Ellen’s place. And that she might have been at least a little railroaded into allowing them.” Ash just stared at him. “Well, I mean, c’mon! Tony just kinda showed up here and all, and...”

“Now you’re reaching. Jesse...let’s just go inside. You’ve been uptight since we turned towards home. You wanna see your brother, you gotta go inside, and stalling isn’t gonna change that.” It was Sam’s turn to stare, mouth half open. “Dude, I’ve known you how long now?” Ash said gently. “We’ve been in each other’s back pockets for years, near 24/7. I know when you’re stalling, man. If you don’t wanna go in, we won’t go in. But I’d at least like to get in someplace warm. I’m freezing my balls off, here.”  
Sam deflated. “No, you’re right. I’m stalling. But you never used to call bullshit,” he accused. “You been talking to Tony too much.”

“And you’ve been talking to Dean pretty steady,” Ash reminded him. “There’s no reason you can’t go in there and talk to him face to face.”

“Emailing, Ash. I’ve been emailing Dean, and that’s a hell of a lot easier.” Regardless, Sam wasn’t going to keep standing around the parking lot. Not when there was a nice, warm bar in front of them. He snagged their bags out from behind the front seat and jerked his head towards the door. They headed inside, tension knotting Sam’s back up with every step closer. Oh yeah, it was great to be home, what with the stress, and the lack of appetite, and the itchy feeling between his shoulder blades that made him want to check and double check his weapons. Even knowing before he got there didn’t lesson the effect of walking into a structure that contained John Winchester.

The fact that John wasn’t in evidence in the bar area didn’t help. That just meant that he was somewhere else, and Sam would have to be on his guard whenever he walked around. But in the meantime, Lani had Tony cornered, and by the looks of her energetic hand motions, was regaling her with the tale of the ghoul hunt. The one that had landed Sam with the sprained wrist, not to mention bruised and abraded knees, and the lovely road rash on his chin. He glanced at Ash, not surprised to find an echo of his own irritation there. Lips thinned, he stalked over to the women and clamped a hand on the back of Lani’s neck. “Tony,” he acknowledged. “Lani telling stories?”

“Hm, yeah. Something about a ghoul hunt, and you tripping?” Tony raised an eyebrow, while Lani’s skin got very hot beneath his hand. 

“Oh? And did she mention that I was tripping over her? Because she’d hidden behind a very large tombstone, when she was meant to be at the motel?” Sam gave a little shake. “Lani...”

“Aw...it’s a little bit funny? Um, kinda? Now that it’s all done with....” Lani trailed off, wilting under Tony and Sam’s combined glares. “Yeah, okay. Still, I shot that ghoul right in the face! And it melted, Tony, it was so gross!”

Sam gave Lani a little shake before he leaned in to give Tony a kiss hello. “She wants a tattoo of the damn thing,” he muttered against her lips. “I just wanna tan her behind, but...” He shrugged. “Any news?”

Lani huffed, slumping dramatically over the bar. Neither Sam nor Tony paid her any mind. “Not too much. Bobby’s here, along with the...Terrible Trio? Is that their nickname? My God, those three are a pain! They keep wanting to ‘help’ with the body piercings, mostly by supervising and taking pictures. And only when it’s a ‘hot’ chick.” Tony made actual air quotes, which told Sam just how irritated she really was. Normally, Tony hated stupid little gestures like that. “Bobby’s sharing John’s room here in the house, and the trio have the use of the blue trailer off to the left. Ellen encouraged them to get some sleep about an hour ago. They’ve been in high spirits the last few days, and that doesn’t go over too well with a lot of the people that come in here.” Sam tried to picture some of the semi-regulars putting up with the Trio on a holiday high and choked on spit. Chances were pretty good that there had been weapons involved. “Yeah. It wasn’t pretty. They’ve done a couple of possessions near here.”

It was said casually, off-hand, like mentioning that carrots were on sale. Sam didn’t miss it, though, or miss the possible significance of it. “Have they? How near?”

“Near enough they’ve been using this place as a home base, and aren’t usually gone over night,” she admitted. “Bobby closets himself away with Ellen and John an awful lot, and I’ve had a run on Devil’s Traps from hunters instead of other kids.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. And, uh, Dean’s out back. He’s got a trailer to himself. Well, him and Jason do. He’s been a little grumpy the last couple of days.”

“I’m gonna head out back then, see if he’s awake. Take anything Lani tells you with a cup of salt, okay? She’s learned all about exaggeration lately.”

“Hey!” Lani swatted at him, but he dodged her with ease and headed into the back. He’d have to sit down with Bobby and compare notes. If demons were that active near them, then there was something here that they wanted. The timing of it was just...too pat, for it to have nothing to do with Dean and Jason. And yet, it still made no sense! Jason was, as far as Sam could tell, a completely normal baby. Unless Sam was the target. In which case, it still didn’t make much sense, since Sam had been on the road, and far more vulnerable.

There was a lone trailer behind the roadhouse, set fairly far back. It was, as trailers went, pretty big. It also had a light on, even though it was nearly midnight, so Sam made himself knock. Quietly, in case Dean had fallen asleep on the couch or something, but he still knocked. Dean answered within seconds, proving that he’d been awake. “Hey, man.” Sam smiled a little crookedly, hoping that all the emails he’d been exchanging with Dean really would make communication in person easier. Dean just stared at him expressionlessly, though, before he turned and vanished into the trailer. Sam’s smile faded, and it was only the fact that Dean had left the door open that kept him from turning tail and running. He followed Dean inside and shut the door, then stood there, hands fidgeting with the strap of his duffel as he looked around. The trailer was pretty big, all things considered. The door opened into a kitchen/dining area, which led down a short flight of steps to a living room area. There was another short flight of steps that led to a hallway and, presumably, the bedrooms and bathroom. It was furnished with new, comfortable looking furniture in a sturdy blue fabric and a big t.v. There was also a small Christmas tree in the corner, kind of sad looking with a single present beneath it, still wrapped.

Dean sat at the table and wrapped his hands around a steaming cup of coffee. There was no offer of a seat, or coffee. Sam felt a sick, squirming flush spread over his body. He should have stuck to emails. Emails were so much easier. “Um, yeah. We just got in,” he tried, sounding lame even to his own ears.

“So I see.”

“Uh, right. Of course. Um...oh, hey!” He unzipped his bag and dug deep, pulling out two items that had been in there for a few days. He set them on the table in front of Dean then quickly stepped back in front of the door. “Merry Christmas. A couple days late, but still.”

Dean picked up the first item, and Sam felt kind of like a tool for not having wrapped it. It was a knife, similar to the bowie that Sam knew his brother still carried. But this one had been hand made, and the wood handle bore protection symbols that Sam had carved himself. Even without those, it was a beautiful weapon; with, it was a beautiful hunter’s weapon. Even the sheath had protective runes burned into the leather. Dean looked it over and set it aside, easily dismissing it. He picked up the other item, and Sam just really wanted to die. Honest to God, what had he been thinking? Dean’d had a job, and he’d made decent money, and he was living rent free and had recently gotten the life insurance money from Cassie’s death. So what had made Sam think that a hand made teddy bear was a good gift for Jason? And he’d gone ahead and made it out of green velvet, and simply stitched eyes on rather than using buttons or something, and the stupid thing was lumpy and lopsided. Sam went cold, then hot, then a weird bastard mix of the two, and made an abortive move to take the things back. “Um, right. You know, I think I should go? I mean, it was a long drive and....yeah.” He turned, hand reaching for the doorknob.

“I expected you two days ago, Sam.” Sam paused at Dean’s low voice. “I remember plenty of holidays that you pitched an almighty fit because dad was late for them. Never mind he always tried to do something for them, even if he was a couple days off.”

“We got stuck in a blizzard trying to come south. We’d have been in plenty of time if it hadn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Sam heard the scrape of a chair and then the clink of crockery being set roughly into a sink. “Seriously, Sam. When you left here, you couldn’t get away fast enough. Couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I thought we were doing better, with all the emails. I thought–we were working things out some.”

“Dean, I swear, we left with plenty of time. The storm wasn’t on any radar, it just blew up out of nowhere, and we got stuck in it.” Sam finally turned back around and leaned against the door. “I tried. I really...I tried. I didn’t want you doing Christmas on your own. Especially this one.” He swallowed, the sound audible in the small space. “I wanted to be here. Should I... do you want me to leave?”

“You only just got here, man. Why would I want you to leave already?” Sighing, Dean walked over and wrapped a hand around the back of Sam’s neck. “It’s just...God, Sammy. I never thought the day would come when I didn’t know what you were thinking. Didn’t know how to talk to you.”

“Ditto, man.” Sam mustered a smile, nodding towards the knife and bear on the table. “Sorry about those. My sewing skills aren’t the best, I guess. I just...didn’t know what to buy for either of you.”

“You–made that bear? I figured you did the engravings on the knife, but...you made that bear?”

“Yeah. Overestimated my skill with my hands. Maybe next Christmas, I’ll just kill something in his name. That I’m good at.”

Dean walked back to the table, leaving a cold draft on the back of Sam’s neck. “Don’t sell yourself short. I happen to like it. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find stuffed animals that aren’t done in some kind of pussy pastel color?” He picked up the bear, hands standing out against the dark green velvet. “Plus, there’s not a damn thing he could choke on, here. I like it, Sam. I like them both. Thanks.” He walked away, off down the hall with the bedrooms. He wasn’t gone long, and when he came back, he wasn’t carrying the bear. Dean cocked an eyebrow at Sam. “Are you just gonna stand by the door, or are you gonna come in? Maybe take your coat off, stay for a while?”

“Do you want me to?” Sam asked hopefully.

“Do I... of course I want you to, Sammy. Jesus, you’re an idiot. You want a beer, or coffee or something?” Dean opened the fridge, staring at the contents. “I need to go grocery shopping, but I could manage an omelet if you’re hungry.”

“Just a beer’s fine.” Sam let his bag slip from his shoulder to thump on the floor. His coat followed, clinking dully with the weight of the gun in the inside pocket. He flushed a little when Dean gave him a questioning look over it. “Um, it’s been a really hectic month?” He moved hesitantly towards the table, fingers twisting in the hem of his sweater. “We’ve been finding a lot of supernatural activity in the areas surrounding the kids. It’s got to the point that we’re just never unarmed.”

“That’s gotta be stressful.” Dean sat across from him, passing over a beer. “I know Bobby’s been around the last few days, jumpy as a cat. Demon activity has been on the rise, and it’s got him scared.”

“I don’t blame him. It’s scary out there, man. Having Lani along doesn’t help, either. She’s getting just good enough with the hand to hand that she thinks she can take care of herself.” Sam waved his sprained wrist. “See this? Ash and I went to take care of a ghoul, told her to stay in the motel. I mean, ghouls are a cake walk, really, so long as you’re careful. Right?” Dean nodded. “But I still don’t want her in the field. So what does she do? She fuckin’ sneaks out of the motel to the cemetery and hides behind this huge tombstone. I’m so busy looking for a shambling ghoul that I didn’t see her crouching there. I fall over, sprain my wrist. Scrape up my chin pretty good, too. So I’m seeing stars, and having a hard time holding the shotgun. Wanna guess what happened?”

“Hmm. The ghoul chose that moment to show up?” Dean asked, lips twitching.

“Yeah. Just about managed to get a bite out of me before my head cleared enough that I could figure out what was going on.” Sam rubbed his chin lightly. “Guess I’m lucky I didn’t bite my tongue off. Lani shot that damn thing, I’ll give her that. But still. It had me by the leg!” Sam tried to suppress the glow of anger he felt every time he thought about it. It was over and done with, and the anger served no purpose. “After everything that’s tried to take me out, it just...to almost get eaten by a ghoul? It’s a damn rookie job.”

“Where was Ash during all of this?”

“Searching the other half of the cemetery,” Sam shrugged. “Rookie job, remember? It’s not like we should have needed immediate backup. I swear to God, one of these days, I really will spank her. Now she’s all cocky and shit because she took something down.”

“Maybe you should leave her behind. I mean, with all the shit that’s going on, if you can’t trust her to follow directions....”

“I know. But man, if we leave her ass behind, she’ll just head out on her own and end up dead. Not the outcome any of us wants.”

“We could chain her in the basement,” Dean offered.

“And she’d flood it, and ya’ll would never get water out of the taps again.” Sam half-smiled at him, though. “We’ll manage, Dean. If I gotta let her think she’s about to die, we’ll get through to her.”

“Ah, the near death wake up call. Always an eye opener.” Dean jerked his head towards the living room and Sam nodded, following him down so they could sprawl out on the comfortable couch. Dean seemed very interested in the various hunts Sam and Ash had worked the last couple of years, and it was a fairly easy topic for Sam to talk about, so he did. Not in order, but just in whatever order they came to mind. Telling the tale of their first hunt, with the spirit of the nine year old boy led to the story of the fifteen year old girl, which led to the story of the sprites. Not in order, but linked by whatever one hunt had in common with another, with Dean asking wistful sounding questions that kept Sam going when he would have stopped on his own.

Sometime later, Sam surprised himself with a yawn midway through detailing the hunt for the skinwalker, complete with a rundown on Ash’s opinion of Jell-o. It caught him mid-word and left him with watering eyes and an aching jaw. “Wow. Sorry, man. Don’t know where that came from.”

“It’s three in the morning,” Dean noted dryly. “And you did spend a couple days fighting through a blizzard. You’re tired.”

“Yeah. I should head to bed, let you get to sleep. I bet Jason keeps you busy.” Sam got up and started gathering beer bottles. He didn’t recall opening more than the first, but there were six empty bottles on the coffee table. Not that three beers was enough to make him even buzzed, but he still couldn’t help wondering how he’d managed to drink them without noticing. He carried them to the kitchen, Dean following with the dishes from the bacon and eggs he’d made them at one point.

“You could stay,” Dean blurted as Sam reached for his coat. “The night, I mean. No sense tromping around the house and waking everyone up.”

Sam hesitated. “I don’t wanna be under foot.”

“If I thought you would be, I wouldn’t have offered.”

Sam hesitated only a second more before he nodded, leaving his coat on the floor. “Okay then. Just let me know when I’m in the way.” He took off his boots and belt and slipped his throwing knives into his bag. He passed his brother on his way back to the living room and aimed himself at the couch, completely missing the crestfallen look that crossed Dean’s face, swiftly smoothed out. Dean ducked down the hallway and came back carrying a pillow and blanket. Sam took them with a smile. “Thanks, Dean.”

“It’s no problem, Sammy. If you need anything, mine’s the first door, okay?”

“Okay. G’night.”

“Night.” Dean shut off the overhead light on his way to his room. The living room wasn’t completely dark, though. The light that was mounted on the outside of the shed filtered through the blinds, allowing Sam to see well enough to get the pillow and blanket situated. When he laid down, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders, he was immersed in the smell of Dean. Dean had given him his own pillow. Chest aching, Sam closed his eyes.

The next thing he knew, sunlight had brightened the world beyond his eyelids and Lani was failing to keep her voice down.

“But Mr. Singer wants to talk to him. He says it’s important.”

“And like I said, tough shit. Bobby can wait. Sam is sleeping.” Sam could hear the glare in the way Dean was growling. “And by the way, little girl. If you ever pull another stupid stunt like you did with the ghoul, you’ll answer to me. I don’t appreciate my brother getting hurt just because you can’t follow one simple direction.”

“I got the ghoul,” Lani said with her usual stubbornness. The she gasped, a pained sound, and Sam reluctantly started to pull himself upright.

“You got my little brother hurt, is what you did. Don’t think either those big eyes or being a girl will protect you if you do it again.”  
Sam attained a more or less upright state and shuffled towards the door. The clock on the microwave told him it was 11:45. Which meant that he’d missed breakfast. Damn.

He made it to the door and kind of...slumped. Mostly against Dean, but partly against the wall, too. “Shh,” he said. “Not so loud. Baby sleepin’.” Dean snorted and Sam smiled vaguely at him.

“Jesse,” Lani said, bringing his gaze back to her. She was glaring at Dean and rubbing her wrist even as she talked to Sam. “Mr. Singer wants to talk to you right away. He said it’s important.”

Sam blinked at her. “Who’n hell is Mr. Singer?”

“Dude, she means Bobby.” Dean studied him for a moment. “You need coffee.”

“Yeah.” Sam thought about that. “Mr. Singer?” he snickered. “Seriously?”

“C’mon, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s get you some coffee.” Dean shut the door in Lani’s face, which Sam thought was a little rude, and tugged Sam over to the kitchen. Sam obediently sat in the chair Dean pushed him into and watched while he started a fresh pot of coffee. It took him a few seconds, but eventually he noticed wide eyes watching him from the bouncy chair on the table beside him. Jason stared at him, little fists resting on the tray, a line of drool going from his mouth down to the damp bib around his neck.

“Uh, dude. Just so you know?” Sam leaned forward. “The drool thing is not a turn on for chicks.”

“Sam!” Dean shook a finger at him, laughing a little. “He’s five months old! He won’t have to worry about that for another eight or nine years at least. Fifteen if he’s at all like you.”

Sam grinned up at him, resting his head on his hand. “Mr. Singer,” he snickered. “And I’ma buy you an apron, an’ then you an’ Jason will match. ‘Cept for the drool.”

“Man.” Dean whistled, turning back to finish the coffee. “You are out of it. How long has it been since you’ve had a decent sleep?”

“Two years, almost three,” Sam told him absently. “Can I have coffee, Dean?” He waggled the fingers of his free hand at Jason, grinning with delight when the baby made a grab for them.

“I...sure, Sammy. You can have whatever you want.” Dean poured him a mug from the near-full pot and passed it over. Sam left off his finger wiggling in favor of the coffee, moaning with delight at the first sip. He was so used to gas station sludge that he sometimes forgot what real coffee ought to taste like. Dean ran his fingers through Sam’s hair while he drank, ending with a little tug to the white patch left behind by the hellhound’s claws. “Ever think of dying this?”

“Why? Don’t gotta look pretty for anyone.”  
“What about your harem? I hear you end up sleeping with most of the psi-kids you find.” Dean gave a final tug and moved away, back to the counter for his own mug of coffee.

Sam shrugged even though Dean couldn’t see it. “That’s just–comfort. They want me to make ‘em feel not alone, not a freak. Finding out something like this, about demons and shit, it’s scary. I know how I felt when I found out I’d been fed demon blood.” He sucked down the rest of the mug, scorching his mouth and throat and not caring. “Nobody should have to go through that alone,” he finished in a rasp.

“And what about Tony? Or Ash?”

“They’re my friends, Dean. That’s all.” He jumped to his feet, feeling a little sick to his stomach. Like he’d done something wrong, and he knew he hadn’t. “Look, thanks for the couch and the coffee. I better go find out what Bobby wants before he comes pounding on your door.”

Leaving the empty mug on the table, Sam headed for the door where his things lay in a heap. He stomped into his boots without tying them and jerked his coat on. He needed to shower, and change clothes, and brush his teeth. But all of that could wait until he’d gotten inside. Dean caught his arm before he could get the door open, giving him a little shake. “Sammy...I didn’t mean anything by that, you know. I swear I didn’t. I was only teasing, man.”

“Yeah, okay. It’s fine, Dean.”

“Then why are you running away from me? You’re always running away, Sam.”

“I’m going in to clean up and change. That’s not exactly running away, Dean.”

Dean let go with a huffy little breath. “Fine. Whatever, Sam. Have it your way. You always do.”

“I’m just going to clean up and change. See what the hell Bobby wants. Dean...”

“It’s okay,” Dean said, far more gently. “Go on ahead. Maybe you’ll get time to have a beer with me later?”

Sam turned and flashed a smile. “I’ll do my best! Later, Dean.” Relieved, Sam pulled the door open and hurried up to the house to shower. Initially, the place seemed to be deserted when he walked in, but after a tense moment of silence, Sam could make out the murmur of voices coming from the bar. Relaxing a little, he headed towards the bathroom.

Showered, shaved, and with freshly brushed teeth, Sam prowled down to the kitchen. Finding it still empty, he peeked into the bar. Everyone except for Dean and John was out there. Forcing his body into a somewhat more relaxed state, he joined them as casually as he could. “Hey, Ellen. Bobby. Jo. People.” He waved, making sure to include the girls and the Trio, but only Andy waved back. His brother had a hint of that ‘you’re in trouble’ glee about him, which really made Sam want to smack him.

“It’s about damned time,” Bobby growled. “In case you hadn’t noticed, a shit storm’s started out there!”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Mr. Singer.” Sam shook his head, smirking. “That’s just never not gonna be funny.” He slouched against the bar, winking at Ellen under the cover of his hair. His smirk widened a fraction when he saw her turn away to cover a smile. He brushed shoulders lightly with Ash, gaining his partner’s attention. “Hey.”

“Hey. Dude, were you seriously still sleeping when Lani went looking for you?”

“Uh huh.”

“What time did you two go to bed?”

“We crashed about three.”

“And...you slept the whole time?”

“Far as I remember–yes. Your point?”

“Hot damn!” Ash slapped the counter beside his computer. “This calls for a celebration. I’m gonna buy you a beer.”

“Make it a coffee, and I’ll pretend you aren’t being weird.” Sam ducked his head against Ash’s look. “So what are we discussing?” he asked, in a deliberate change of subject that wouldn’t save him from Ash’s inquisition later.

“We’re pooling our information,” Ellen told him. “And Ash is meant to be mapping it out.”

“Yeah. Here, check it.” Ash turned the computer to face him. On the screen was a map of North America, with various colored dots scattered all over. “The green dots are psi-kids. Red are demons. Yellow are spirits and the blue are...pretty much everything else. Ghouls, skinwalkers, whatever.” Sam squinted at the screen, eyes slowly picking out the patterns. In almost every case, the green dots had at least one other dot of a different color within fifty miles. For many of them, it was a red dot, which meant demon. But there were five red dots that were on their own, with nothing else around it. Sam tapped his finger on each one.

“Can you get me info on these towns? Especially any pictures. I’m betting we just found five more.”

“No problemo. You want a radius?” Ash asked, already typing.

Sam pursed his lips, thinking it over. “...yeah, probably best.”   
“What the hell are you two yammering about?” Bobby demanded.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him, wondering at the anger. Sam wouldn’t have had any more information to pool than Ash did, seeing as how they worked together and Ash’s memory was even better than his own. He answered anyway, not in the mood to have it out in front of everyone. “You know we’re finding and hiding as many of the demon touched psychics as we can. Based on this model, every one of the kids we’ve found has had something supernatural near them. Most likely feeding off the energy we emit. And a lot of those things were demons, now presumably exorcized.”

“I’m going to get pictures or something of these areas, along with pictures of anything within a fifty mile radius, for Jesse to use as a focus when he vision quests for the kids,” Ash piped up, surprising Sam. He’d thought his partner was pretty deep into his search, and Ash had a tendency to get tunnel vision in that mode. “It’s highly likely that the areas that had a demon will also contain a psi-kid.”

“But what about the two that Bobby found near here?” Ellen asked. “How do they fit that pattern?”

“Tony lives here full time,” Sam reminded her. “I’m here frequently. Or,” he said, thinking it over. “It might be the roadhouse. I mean, how many places are there where hunters gather like this? We are the number one obstacle in the way of their war. It’s possible that they’re keeping a steady watch on the place. Or were.”

“But wouldn’t that mean,” Max said softly, “that they have a leader? Someone to keep them organized?”

Sam raised an eyebrow at the other man, pleased that Max was taking part in a non-frivolous discussion. “Very good point. And–maybe. It might mean one is gaining control. Has a few others that obey it. It’s still a more dangerous situation. Damn it!” His fist thumped the bar top, making several people around him jump.

“Calm down, man,” Ash soothed, unfazed by his outburst. “We ain’t losing.”

“It doesn’t mean we’re winning.” He scrubbed his face with his hands, wishing he’d had more coffee. “Ash...is there a pattern to-to us? I mean, to where we were when Dead Fred marked us on our sixth month birthdays? Did our locations make any difference in our choosing, or...”

“I can find out.” Ash hopped off his stool and walked out, muttering to himself and futzing with his computer.

“You know what would help?” Jo piped up when no one else seemed to be ready to talk. “More hunters. I could....”

“No!” Sam and Ellen said at the same time. Sam could see the rebellion building in her eyes and closed his own. “Jo, please. I really think this place is gonna end up being the headquarters that Tony’s working for. She’s going to need help. And so is Ellen, just to keep communication going.”

“Leaving the little women behind?” she shot back angrily.

“If that were the case, I’d have Lani chained in the basement.” She shut up, not having an argument for that. “Honest to God, Jo. I really think your mother will need help, and so will Tony. Hunters don’t trust people, so you’ll be her ticket in with a lot of them. We need to get organized, more efficient. Make ourselves into an army to match them. Because if we don’t, if we stay as independent and disorganized as we are right now, they will win. And I’m not okay with that.”

Jo pursed her lips, scowled at the room in general, and stalked out. Ellen watched her go. Then, apparently unable to leave it alone, hurried after her. With the meeting thoroughly at an end, Bobby gave the Trio a significant look, prompting the boys to try to herd the girls out. Sam propped his head on his fist, watching with something like amusement as they completely failed. Neither Tony or Lani were going to be shuffled off like children. Especially on the say so of a man they didn’t know. He waited until Bobby cleared his throat and glared at him before straightening. “Let’s take a walk, Bobby, while the kids here do their wacky mating dance.” He headed for the front door, brushing up against Tony for a quick little kiss. 

Left with little choice, Bobby followed him. Outside, the mid-day sky was gradually growing darker as clouds moved in, promising snow. Sam hunkered down into his coat, wishing he’d remembered to grab a hat. His ears were freezing already. “Alright, Bobby. You’ve got me all to yourself. Talk.”

“It’s your dad.”

“About anything other than that,” Sam snapped, instantly furious. “That topic is off limits.”

“No, it damn well isn’t!” Bobby snapped right back. “Look, boy. I’ve known you since you were still in diapers, so don’t you take that tone with me! You are gonna shut up, listen, and stop being such a stubborn, pig-headed brat!” Greatly daring, he reached out and grabbed Sam by the arm, shaking him roughly. “Your father is in there right now, drunk as a skunk. He’s been drunk as a skunk since you left last month, according to Ellen. There are more important things going on than your issues with him. So you need to march in there and work things out. We need John Winchester. And you’re going to get him back for us.”

With a light flex of his mind, Sam lifted Bobby into the air and slammed him–not too hard, just hard enough–against the back wall of the roadhouse. “I believe I just told you that topic was off limits,” he said with feigned mildness. “But since you seem incapable of listening, I’ll spell it out for you. I don’t care. John Winchester isn’t my concern. He is not my responsibility. I owe him nothing. I owe the world nothing. And I certainly owe you nothing, Robert Singer. I have given my life to this cause more than once, so if I choose to not have anything to do with someone, that’s my fucking right. Try to force that man on me again, in any way, and we’re going to have some serious issues.” Sam let him drop, cushioning his landing just enough that he didn’t get hurt. Then he turned and started walking, with no destination in mind other than away.

INTERLUDE

Dean tugged the blanket up over Jason’s head before running across the expanse of snow covered ground between his trailer and the roadhouse. Ellen was a fantastic cook, and she welcomed Dean–and Jason, of course–every night for supper. It had been getting more and more difficult to bring himself to accept the standing invite, though. John never left the building, and often didn’t even leave his room. Except to go snatch another bottle, which Dean was left to pay for. He hadn’t told Sam, too worried that his brother would bolt from the roadhouse again for another month. The whole situation was wearing on him, if he were being honest. Jason needed him. Dad needed him. Sam needed him, even if he weren’t allowing himself to realize that. And the only one he could do anything for was his son. Already feeling helpless after the loss of Cassie, all the extra stress was making him want to pack his son in the car and just leave them all to their own devices. Which then made him feel guilty. 

Ellen greeted him, looking frazzled and tired. “Hello, Dean. Jason.” She reached out automatically to take the baby. Dean let her, knowing how a good cuddle often made him feel better.

“What’s wrong?” 

“What’s right would be a shorter answer,” she told him ruefully. “Jo’s having a fit because Jesse made her feel obligated to stay here rather than go off hunting. Bobby’s having his own kind of fit because he and Jesse had some kind of fight. Jesse just isn’t here, since he stomped off to have a sulk someplace. And John...well.”

“Has he gotten up at all today, Ellen?” She shook her head wordlessly. “Damn it! This isn’t like him, and I have no idea how to fix this.” He wanted to punch the wall, but Jason was already staring at him with big, worried eyes. Dean took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. “I’m going to see if I can’t get him to eat something. Can you watch Jason for me? I don’t want him seeing dad like this...”

“No problem, sweetie.” Ellen turned her too understanding eyes fully onto Jason, the mother in her coming into play in the tender, efficient way she got him set up in a highchair that he nearly drowned in, but which showcased the way he sat up all by himself like a champ.

Dean quickly put together a plate of leftover ham and potatoes from Christmas dinner. John had staggered out to join everyone, reeking of whiskey and body odor, bloodshot eyes barely open. Dean had never known public mortification like that in his life. John was in no better condition three days later. Lying across his rumpled bed, almost empty bottle clasped loosely in one hand. But he was awake, which was a plus. He still hadn’t showered, which was a definite minus. Keeping his breathing shallow, Dean crouched beside his father and took the bottle away. “Hey, dad. Brought you some ham and potatoes. Ellen’s a first rate cook, you don’t wanna miss out on even her leftovers.”

“Yer momma c’d cook,” John slurred. “Mary. B’ful Mary. So sorry.” John continued on in that vein, moaning about how sorry he was, how he was such a failure, a bad father, a miserable husband.

“Dad!” Dean finally snapped. “Please, just eat!”

“Let me try, Dean,” Sam said, making him jump. He turned to look at his brother standing in the doorway. In his own way, Sam looked as bad as their dad: hollow cheeks, sunken, dull eyes, limp hair and chapped, peeling lips. He looked more dead than alive, which was a sharp contrast to what he’d been like earlier. Dean stood slowly, backing away as Sam entered the room. John focused on him, straightening suddenly as recognition set in. “You’re meant to be putting yourself between my brother and nephew and anything that wants to hurt them,” Sam said coldly, staring right at John.

“S-sam!” John stuttered, clearly shocked, possibly even a little afraid.

The room’s one window slid open without anyone touching it. From outside came a flood of snow, which turned to water and poured down over John where he half sat up against the wall. John sputtered, flailing beneath the deluge. “You disgust me,” Sam continued.

“Sam!” Dean snapped, not willing to let his brother do more damage to their already broken father. No matter how certain he was that John was at fault for whatever their falling out had been.

“It’s only the truth, Dean. He stole everything from us! I have never known what innocence felt like. No matter how hard you tried to shelter me, I never had that. We were never allowed friends or close ties of any kind with anyone! Being moved around, living in motels and rattrap apartments, all so he could have his revenge,” Sam spat. “And he’s had it. I gave you your revenge, dad,” he sneered. “After everything that was taken from me, I still gave you that. And this is how you repay that? You’ve taken more from me, my very life, and you think you’ve got the right to lay around like this? Dean needs you. His wife was murdered, almost his son, and all you can do is lay around and drink?” John was lifted into the air and pinned against the wall, eyes bulging and very, very sober. “You owe me, John Winchester. You owe me more than you can ever repay. You don’t get to be selfish and self-indulgent. You were told to put yourself between them and anything that wants to hurt them. You still have a job to do. And right now, the only thing you’re good for is a door stop!” Sam slammed John against the wall, hard enough to elicit a pained grunt. “Not one more drop of alcohol. You will shower. You will put on clean clothes. You will clean this room until there isn’t one hint of body odor or booze. You will eat. And you will go out and have a run. And you’re gonna do all of that every single day, and you’re going to help fight the demons that are trying to start a war. Is that clear?” John nodded, swallowing audibly in the sudden silence that fell after the end of Sam’s tirade. Sam let him go and John slid back down to the wet bed. As Dean watched, though, the water soaking the mattress and puddled on the floor swirled back up and out the still open window, taking with it a lot of the unpleasant smell.

“Go shower. And so help me God, if I hear of you pulling some pussy shit like this again....” Sam cut himself off, closing his eyes. “I’m the one who got hurt. If I can survive and pull myself into some sort of life, you can do no less.” He turned and walked out again, leaving Dean in the position of not knowing which one to go to. In the end, it was only the feeling that his dad needed to pull himself together on his own that let him choose to go after his brother. He stepped outside the room in time to see Ash open the door to the room he shared with Sam. Sam just kind of crumpled into the other man’s arms. In the few seconds that Dean had before Ash pulled Sam into the room, he could see that Sam looked even more broken than John. And that, more than anything else, made it easy to walk away. John could look after himself.

February 9th, 2006

Ash brought the van to as gentle of a stop as he could manage. He just about had to pry his fingers out of the white knuckled grip they had on the steering wheel. The same white knuckled grip they’d had since the three of them had left Minnesota. Beside him, Lani made a sympathetic noise and patted his arm. “You run on in and get someone to help me bring him in,” he instructed. “Actually, see if you can’t get Dean. Dunno how Jess’d feel about anyone else helping.”

“Sure thing, Ash.” She cast a worried look into the back at Jess’s prone figure before opening the door and scampering out. For the moment, Ash just breathed. His hands hurt, his shoulders and back were knotted, and he had one hell of a headache building behind his eyes. All because his stubborn, pig-headed idiot of a partner couldn’t stay in a hospital like a normal person!

The door of the roadhouse opened to emit a gaggle of people, with Dean standing a head taller than the rest. With a muttered curse, Ash jumped out to intercept them. “Would ya’ll hang on a second?” he snapped, stopping them a few feet from the van. Jo and Tony gave him especially virulent glares. “Don’t you give me that! Let me remind you who you’re trying to mob. While he’s out of his head on painkillers. Jesse. He doesn’t do well on pills. They confuse him, disorient him. And the second he feels threatened, he’s gonna lash out. Now how do you think he’s gonna feel if he lashes out and hurts one of you?”

“But you said it yourself, Ash,” Jo said, tossing her hair. “He’s out of his head. It’s not like he could really hurt one of us. And I want to see how he is!”

Ash shook his head, pitying the girl. She was head over heels, and Jesse hardly noticed her. “He’ll reach for water and fire before he tries physical defense. Just...let me’n Dean here get him set up? Ellen, where we puttin’ him?”

“My trailer around back,” Dean told him, stepping up before Ellen could answer. “My bed is big enough to handle his frame, and tall enough to make it easier on him getting in and out. Let’s get your ride moved around back.”   
“Sounds good.” Ash gave the ladies a sympathetic look, easily imagining how tough it had to be to not be allowed to help. But at the moment, even Lani made Jesse nervous when he was awake, and she’d been with them since November. 

The pair of them hopped back into the van, and Ash carefully guided the van around to the back while Dean twisted around to hang over the seat. He frowned hard at the sight of his brother laying on the floor, swaddled and braced in blankets and pillows. “It wouldn’t be a big deal if he’d have stayed in the hospital,” Ash commented. “But he shrinks away from real medical attention more’n anyone I’ve ever seen. He was pulling the iv out the second he woke up.”

“How bad is it?”

“He got opened up hip bone to hip bone. Knicked his intestines. They got him all fixed up, but they wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few days.” Ash backed the van up right next to Dean’s front door, leaving them just enough room to maneuver. “We have to watch for infection, and to make sure he doesn’t pull anything trying to sit up or something stupid. If he pops his internal stitches....”

“He goes septic from the crap leaking out of his intestines. Stupid fucker.” Nothing more was said then. Ash climbed over the seat to take Jesse’s shoulders, and Dean got out to open the trailer door before taking him by the legs. Jesse moaned, tossing his head, as they moved him. It was awkward, and Ash would have just about killed for some kind of stretcher, long as Jesse was. But between the two of them, he and Dean got Jesse safely inside and on the bed. Ash let the other man fuss, getting Jesse tucked in, checking his temp, fondling his hair. Sighing, Ash slipped out of the room to get the supplies the hospital had ‘given’ him. The bandages and pills he took straight back to the bedroom, not batting an eye to find Dean in the bed with his brother. He set the stuff on the bedside table, catching Dean’s attention.

“He’s on a regular course of antibiotics, just in case.” Ash held up the bottle in question. “Every eight hours, and his next dose is in...an hour and a half. These,” he held up a second bottle. “Are his pain meds. Which he also gets every eight hours, IF you can get him to take one. He prefers the pain to the loopiness, and after a day or two with any injury, stops taking anything stronger than Tylenol. He’ll smoke up, though, if you can stand to have that in your place. It’s not as good, but it helps, and helps him eat. Although it’s a liquid diet for the next couple of weeks anyway.”

“Got it. What’s that other shit?” Dean asked, nodding at the large white bag Ash still held.

“IV bags, catheter, and urine collection bags,” Ash told him evenly. “In case he’s stubborn enough that we have to keep him sedated. He needs to rest and not move as much as possible. If he won’t do it on his own...”

A smile spread unexpectedly across Dean’s face, making Ash’s breath catch. He thought he could see something of what attracted Jesse so powerfully to his brother in that grin. “I like you a little more every time we talk, Ash.”  
Ash paused on his way out the door to stash the extra stuff in the bathroom. “I’m still not too sure about you, to be honest. I’ve had to break Jesse out of too many bad dreams where he’s callin’ your name.” When he got back, Dean was looking kind of...broken, and he sighed. “That probably came out wrong.” Ash kicked his boots off and settled on the bed on Jesse’s other side. He was used to Jesse turning towards him, but that didn’t happen. Jesse kept his head turned towards Dean, pressing his face into the hand that was still stroking his hair. 

“So what did you mean by that?”

“He misses you,” Ash told him simply. “He’s missed you since the day he walked into this joint with only a couple guns, a couple sets of clothes, and a computer to his name. So when I say bad dreams, I ain’t talking screaming nightmares where he’s terrified of you. He’s just callin’ your name, sounding like the loneliest son of a bitch on the planet.”

“That really doesn’t make me feel better, Ash.”

“Not really trying to. I’m just telling you like it is.” He sat up, wanting something to do with his hands. A beer would be ideal, but he’d settle for changing Jesse’s bandages. While he worked, he kept his gaze resolutely focused on his task, even as he continued to educate Dean. “See, the thing of it is, Jesse’s my partner. I know you know how it is out there, life and death, close calls all the fucking time. Saving each other and then putting a few away when the job’s all done. I’m not interested in making you feel better about ditching him.” Dean flinched, then lifted his chin with a belligerent air. “Don’t. I know all about the two of you. I know exactly how close you were before you met your wife. And I know what it did to him to have you leave him. So no, I ain’t sure I’m all that fond of you. Jesse is my only priority here, what he wants and what’s best for him. Now, he trusts you more’n anybody else in the world. Still. Which is why we’re here while he recovers. So don’t blow it.”

“How...do you know he still trusts me? He keeps running away from me, Ash.”

“Dude, he slept almost nine hours in your house. That’s four or five more hours than I’ve been able to get him to sleep without sedatives.” Ash rolled his head, trying to unknot his shoulders, without any luck. “Look, I’m wiped. Are you good to take care of him? Where’s the baby?”

“Jason’s with my dad, so yeah. I’m good to take care of my brother. You go get some sleep or whatever.” Just that quickly, Dean attempted to dismiss him. That was fine with Ash. The man could do what he liked, just so long as Jesse wasn’t hurt in the doing.

Ash leaned over his partner, bringing both hands up to cup his face, fingers of one hand easily fitting over the white lines scoring Jesse’s face. “Jesse. I need you to wake up for me, man,” he said loudly.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Dean snapped, trying to pull him back.

“Fuck off. I ain’t leaving him somewhere unfamiliar without telling him. No matter who’s with him.” Shrugging Dean off, he went back to coaxing Jesse awake. With a barely there moan and some fluttering of his eyes, Jesse managed to claw his way to consciousness, in spite of the knock out drugs Ash had made him take for the drive. “You with me, man?”

“Ash. Whazzit?” He tried to sit up, but Ash prevented that by the simple method of laying on his chest.

“Stay still. You’re hurt, remember? Your gut?” Ash reminded him, trying to orient him on the present. Jesse’s brow furrowed, but he nodded slowly. “We’re back at the roadhouse. You’re in Dean’s trailer, since he’s got the best bed in the place for you. Tall enough you can get out of it easier without straining your muscles. He’s right here.”

Dean took that as a cue and shouldered him off to the side. “Hey, Sammy. Not feeling so hot, huh?”

“Dean. Jason?”

“Ellen’s watching Jason,” Ash said quickly. “You know she’s got a soft spot for babies, so she’s thrilled.” Jesse smiled muzzily. “I’m going to go catch a shower and a beer, unless you want me to stay? Dean said he’d hang around, fetch your water for you and shit. Is that alright?”

“Dean. Yeah. Ash...’kay?”

“I’m fine, Jess. Just a little rank, is all. You got your phone, you can call me if you need me? I’ll be back in a few hours anyway.” 

“Yeah. Fine. Go.” 

Satisfied that Jesse knew what was going on, Ash slid off the bed and left the brothers to it. Dean gave him a look that Ash would swear was jealous, which as far as he was concerned, could only be a good thing. He’d go out of his way to be an excellent care-giver, if only to show himself as better than Ash. He pulled his boots back on, then jerked his head at Dean to walk him to the door. Dean looked mulish, even though Jesse had already drifted back to sleep, but complied. At the door, Ash gave him one last piece of advice. “Look. I know you don’t know shit about what happened between Jesse and your dad. You probably wanna fix things, and you might think throwing the two of them together will help that along. But we’re in range of two other psychics with incredibly dangerous gifts. He’s quick with ‘em.”

“Got it.”

“And don’t mention that it’s John that’s watching Jason. He’s your boy, and if you trust John with him that’s your business, but you’ll probably send Jesse into a panic.”

“I got it, Ash. I can take care of my brother. Just–go have a beer or something.” Dean turned and stomped back to his bedroom, probably to brood over Jesse’s unconscious form. Ash shrugged and left, knowing there wasn’t much more he could do to keep things under control than he already had.

The van he moved back around to the front of the roadhouse. Then he went in, loaded down with all three of their duffels, casting a glare at Lani when he spotted her. She bit her lip guiltily and hopped down off her stool, intent on fetching her own damn bag. When she was in range, Ash dumped all three of them on her, darkly amused at the way she staggered under the weight of them. “Go put ‘em in our room. I’m gonna have a beer, and maybe something to eat.” He stomped off, muttering under his breath and wishing she had just a little less of the little girl entitlement attitude some days. She was fine getting dirty and learning to fight, but she had a real blind spot when it came to pulling her own weight in other areas. Like opening doors for herself, and carrying her own luggage. And Jesse, the big softy, indulged her. 

He moved to the bar, slid onto a stool, and gave Ellen the biggest, most pathetic look he possessed. Ellen wandered over, lips twitching, which told him that look had been about as successful as always. “Please?” he tried.

“How’s he doing, Ash?” she asked, putting an ice cold PBR down in front of him.

“He’s sleeping. And there’s no sign of infection. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“The hardest part,” she said sympathetically. “How’d it happen?”

Ash glared at the longneck in front of him, then downed it in one long go. “He asked us to stay behind,” he told her, voice raspy from the beer. “And we complied.” Wisely, Ellen didn’t press him any further on it. She just put down another beer, squeezed his shoulder, and moved away.

Ash sat there for a minute, but he was too hungry and too restless to play barfly. With beer safely in hand, he went into the kitchen. John Winchester looked up, a bowl of some kind of glop in his hand and Jason in his highchair in front of him. “Yippee,” Ash muttered.

“Hey, Ash,” Winchester said eagerly. “How’s Sa-Jesse? How’s my boy?”

“I ain’t discussin’ my partner with you,” Ash snarled. He stalked past the man, hoping for some easily heated leftovers. Behind him, he heard Winchester stand up, making his hackles rise. Jesse, he thought, should have left the man to pickling his liver. Ash turned and leaned against the counter, beer in one hand, his other tucked in his back pocket next to where his .9 mm resided. “Don’t push me,” he warned. “That baby’s already seen too much blood.”

Winchester paused, eyes calculating. “I’m not looking to throw down. I just need to go see my boy. Since you won’t tell me how he is.” He made a move like he was going out the back door.

“You try to see him, you and me are gonna have issues. I protect my partner,” Ash told him, deadly serious. It made him pause again.

“You do a lousy job, then. Considering he’s hurt.”

Ash smirked and walked up to the guy, got right in his face. “That shit won’t work on me. For one, I’m way smarter than you are. For another, I never raped him,” he whispered. His words acted like holy water on a demon; Winchester paled and staggered back to collapse in his chair, face gray. “I protect my partner,” he repeated, standing over the man. “You count as a threat. Keep your distance, you shit. I am not in the mood to play nice.”

“You-you don’t know the whole story. You can’t. It wasn’t my fault!”

“I know the story. Stay away from me and mine.” Ash glared cooly at the man until he bowed his head. Only then did Ash turn his back and resume his search for food. Dean had just better keep his word to keep John away.

*

Sam groaned, head aching and a line of fire across his belly. He opened blurred eyes onto an unfamiliar room. He licked his dry, cracked lips with a tongue that wasn’t all that wet. “Dean?” he croaked. Where was Dean? Had he been hurt too?”

Dean’s face, with that little crease between his eyes that said ‘worried!’ filled his vision. “Sammy? What do you need?”

“Water.”

“Okay.” Dean disappeared, but before Sam could get the air-and the spit-to voice his protest, he was back. A straw was put to his lips and Sam sucked gratefully. The cool, sweet water eased the scratchiness of his throat some, and was gone way too soon. But the effort of sucking had left him tired and panting a little, without the energy to request more. “How ya feeling, Sammy?” Dean asked, putting a hand on Sam’s forehead.

“Hurts,” Sam told him. “You hurt?”

“No, little brother. I’m fine,” Dean assured him, starting to rub a little. 

“Good.” Sam managed to raise a heavy, clumsy hand to the back of Dean’s neck and pull him down. Sam felt much better when he was able to get his face tucked under Dean’s chin, his brother’s Adam’s apple bobbing against his lips. The tension in Dean’s body confused him, though. Scared him. Then Dean relaxed and resumed stroking his hair and Sam happily let the darkness claim him.

*

Sam moaned, hotter than hell. Blankets weighed him down, suffocating him. Making him sweat. He shoved them off, cool air a blessing washing over him. Waking him up a little. His eyes opened on an unfamiliar room. A nice room. Dean wanted a nice room for them, he remembered. A good place to stay for his last weeks before the hounds came. Where was Dean? Had their goodbye already ended? Had the hounds already come? “Dean? Dean?! No, Dean, no! You can’t, Dean, don’t leave me please!” Why was he so weak? He couldn’t even sit up!

“Sammy, Sammy, shh,” Dean soothed, right there, warm and solid, pulling Sam into his arms. Sam clung to him as tightly as he could, shuddering with fear.

“I thought she’d come for you. I thought–I failed. We still have time, right? She’s not coming yet?” he begged.

“I don’t...she’s not coming ever, Sammy. I’m never leaving,” Dean promised.

“I did it, then? I broke the deal? You’re safe?” Sam asked, hope letting him lift his head.

“You did it. I’m safe, Sammy.”

A helpless little noise slipped out of him at that. Sam was quick to stifle any more with Dean’s mouth, slipping his tongue between Dean’s lips. He couldn’t hold it, chills and exhaustion pulling his mind reluctantly under.

*

Sam rolled over, bumping right into Dean. He picked up his head, eyes blearily focusing on Dean’s worn, stressed faced. Memory surfaced: the hospital, dad on the floor, the field, dad’s body burning. Too tired to resist, sobs broke free from Sam’s chest. “Dad,” he cried, shrinking from Dean’s bloodshot gaze. “Dad! I’m sorry, Dean. I shoulda-I’m sorry!”

“Sam, c’mon. What are you talking about? What about dad?”

“He’s-he’s gone. Dead. Don’t you remember?” Sam could barely catch his breath for the sobs. “My fault. I knew he was–but I let it fool me. ‘M sorry.”

“Dad’s fine, Sam. I promise, he’s just fine. Go to sleep, baby brother. Shh, it’s okay. Just sleep,” Dean crooned, gently wiping his tears away. Wanting to apologize some more, Sam sank back under.

*

Head aching, body aching, Sam lifted heavy lids. Dad’s face swam above him. There was a fire in his belly and dad above him. Sam screamed, pain and fear bursting out of him as he struggled away from the father who was hurting him.

Hands pinned his shoulders briefly. Then they slid up his neck to cup his face. “Jesse.” That name made him go still and quiet. He opened his eyes again cautiously, afraid he’d see John’s face leering down at him again. But no. There was Ash, hair limned by a yellow light somewhere.

“Shh, man. It’s just me. You’re safe, Jesse. I won’t let anything hurt you,” Ash promised him.

“I thought...he was here. I thought...It was a dream?”

“Yeah, Jess. Just a bad dream.”

“But...my stomach. I hurt all over, Ash. Why do I hurt?”

“You got stabbed, Jesse. Cut up pretty good, and you’ve got an infection and a pretty high fever. Here, can you drink for me? Take some pills?” Ash helped him lift his head to suck on a straw, cool water bringing chills to his whole body. “I know, man. Fever chills suck. But you need the water so you don’t get dehydrated. Here, Tylenol. Won’t touch the infection, but it should help some with the fever.” Ash slipped a couple small pills into his mouth and Sam sucked more water down with them. “Good deal, dude. You wanna try eating something? I’ve got applesauce.” 

“....applesauce?” Sam wondered.

“You’re on a liquid diet. Knife knicked your intestines, so...”

“Oh. No. Soup? Tomato?” 

“I’ll be right back with some.” Ash let him drink some more water before he got up to get the soup. Sam was out before he ever got back.

*

Sam opened gritty eyes with an extreme reluctance born of exhaustion. It took a few moments of blinking to bring anything into focus, and when he could see, all that was in his view was a plain white ceiling. He turned his head, bringing a night table littered with pill bottles and empty cups with straws in them. The bed, along with him, was covered with a navy blue comforter. At the end of the bed, against the wall, was a dresser. He couldn’t quite make out who was in them, but there were a couple photos in plain silver frames on top of it. On the other side of the bed, Dean sat in a chair, tilted back to lean against the wall, with his feet propped up on the bed.

Sam had to pee. Vaguely recalling Ash telling him that he was in Dean’s bed, he guessed that the bathroom was right next door. A nice, short trip, which even his exhausted body ought to be able to manage without waking Dean. His brother looked...almost as bad as Sam felt. Gathering his energy, Sam tossed back the comforter, grimacing over the state of himself. His light, long sleeved tee and cotton pants were plastered to his body with dried sweat, and he stank, sweat and sick smell that made his skin itch for a shower. But first things first: he needed to pee.

With the blanket pulled back, all he had to do was swing his legs out to the side and roll to his feet. Easy. Except not, because he was exhausted down to his bones, and weaker than a newborn kitten. Not to mention the ache across his gut that reminded him, quite pointedly, that he’d been basically gutted. He couldn’t afford to strain his abdominal muscles, because Ash would cart his ass back to a hospital in no time flat. So he put most of his weight on his arms to get him over to the edge of the bed, and they were shaking like leaves in a tornado by the time he made it. He had to take a rest after moving all of a foot. The whole bathroom thing was probably not going to work. At the rate he was moving, his bladder would explode long before he made it to the bathroom, even if he didn’t collapse.

“Having second thoughts, Sammy?” Dean asked, sounding far too amused.

“It seemed like a good idea when I started,” Sam croaked ruefully. He craned his head to peer at his brother. “Sorry. I gotta pee, and you look tired.”

“Boy, you sure are a sweet talker.” Dean got up and came around the bed. “Let me do the work, yeah?”

“I’m in no position to argue.” Sam put his hands on Dean’s shoulders, felt Dean’s hands worm under him and grip his back, and then he heaved. Dean had him up and wobbling on his feet in one, relatively smooth, motion. Sam was too busy clinging in order to avoid falling to wonder at it. When he felt as steady on his feet as he was afraid he was going to get, he nodded. With Dean mostly holding him up, they staggered into the bathroom.

Peeing took an embarrassing amount of energy from him. Energy that he didn’t have to begin with. Still, once he’d finished, he leaned on the sink and washed his face with Dean making little huffy, outraged noises behind him. Not that Sam could really blame him; Dean was holding him up more than the sink was. He thought about brushing his teeth, but the only toothbrush in the holder was Dean’s, and he wasn’t that out of it, that he thought he could do that. “Done?” Dean asked acidly when he’d rinsed the soap from his face.

“Yeah. Sorry, I just hate...”

“It’s fine. I know the feeling. C’mon.” Dean maneuvered them back to the bedroom, taking even more of Sam’s weight on the return trip. Sam was happy to just make it back into bed, but Dean apparently felt the need to fuss, straightening the blankets around him and rearranging the pillows. Although the exhaustion pulled at his mind, demanding he sleep, it felt too nice to have Dean fussing over him again. He smiled a little, and Dean saw it. “What?”

“Nothing. Just...nothing. I guess I was sick?”

Snorting, Dean sat on the bed beside him. “Sick? Naw, man. You were really fucking sick. You developed an infection. Raging fever, nightmares and hallucinations, the whole bit. This is the first I’ve seen you lucid in...well, since you got here a week ago, anyway.”

“Wow. Sorry, man.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll pay me back later,” Dean promised. Sam smiled up at him sleepily. He was starting to drift, much as he didn’t want to yet. “Go to sleep, Sam. I’ll be around when you wake up.”

“‘kay.” Sam closed his eyes and let himself drift off.

When he woke up again, it felt like hardly any time had passed. He was still tired, still ached, and pretty sure he still smelled, but he was also hungry. He cracked an eye, a combination of pleased/disappointed filling him when he spotted Ash in the chair where Dean had been sitting. “Hey,” he croaked. Ash straightened, peering at him suspiciously. “What?”

“Are you seriously clear headed, or was Dean shitting me?” Ash demanded.

“I’m thirsty,” Sam told him. “Cucumber?”

Ash laughed, as he was meant to, recognizing Sam’s messing with him for what it was. “Damn, it’s good to have your brain back to whatever your normal is. Here, dude. Drink something. You sound like a walrus.”

“Fuck you.” Sam pushed himself up on his elbows a little, allowing Ash to place a cup with a straw sticking out of it at his lips. He just about drained the thing, feeling much better for the water. He flopped back down with a light belch. “Thanks. Now can I have some food?”

“Sure. I got yogurt. Applesauce. Um, soup, but I think it’s a couple days old, so maybe not that. And....”

“No,” Sam interrupted. “I said food. C’mon, Ash. The docs said a week for the liquid thing. I can have soft solids now. So what about ravioli? Or spaghetti-o’s? A side of beef?”

“Very funny. Maybe some ravioli. Maybe.” Ash bent over him, one hand bracing himself on the bed, the other sliding beneath the blankets to Sam’s stomach. Sam stiffened reflexively when Ash’s hand got close to his wound, but he permitted his partner to toss the covers back and lift his shirt. Peel the bandages back and examine the neat line of stitches patchworking his lower belly. Sam craned his head for his own look, critically eyeing the skin around the stitches. It was pink and swollen, and it looked like he’d pulled more than a couple of stitches almost out. But there was no angry red of infection, and Sam could certainly attest to the fact that while it hurt, it didn’t burn the way his hazy memory said it had been. “Alright,” Ash told him eventually. “I’m pretty sure the infection is pretty much cleared up. Looks like it’s healing decent. Gonna have a scar, though.”

“What, another? However shall I cope?” Ash glared at him and Sam just shrugged. “I don’t care, Ash. I really fucking don’t. Considering everything...a scar is the last thing on my mind,” he said harshly.  
“Okay, man. Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Let me go see about that ravioli.” Ash tucked him back in, leaving the bandages off to allow the injury to breathe, and slouched out of the room. He returned a few minutes later, not with ravioli, but with oatmeal. It was the instant kind with fake strawberry flavoring, and so soupy it may as well have BEEN soup. But it was better than the protein drinks he suspected had otherwise been in his future, so Sam kept his trap shut.

Eating took a lot out of him. Plus, the oatmeal, more solid and just more than anything he’d had in over a week, made his stomach feel bloated. Belly full, he tugged Ash down onto the bed with him, comforted to have him near enough to touch. He slept.

Dean was with him on his next waking. “What,” he asked, voice sleep raspy, “you’n Ash taking shifts? Pretty boring, watching me sleep.”

“Dude, I dunno what he did to it, but my laptop’s working about a billion times faster,” Dean told him cheerfully. “Think I should show him my EMF reader?”

“Only if you want him to take it apart and put it back together as some kind of deep space transmitter or something.” Sam pushed himself a little more upright, starting to feel a little sore from being flat on his back for who knew how long. He was also hungry again, and thirsty. But definitely feeling better for all of that. Not as exhausted and kitten-weak. “Can I have some food?”

“Sure, Sammy. Don’t go anywhere.” Dean put the computer aside as he got up, flashing Sam a bright grin.

“Funny,” Sam told him, recalling the potty debacle. Although, he was feeling better, he could probably make it....

“Don’t,” Dean warned from the doorway, pointing a finger at him. He didn’t move until Sam nodded sheepishly. Sam looked around, noting the cleaned off table and the open blinds on the window. He really had to be on the mend, if they were willing and able to notice things like a mess.

Dean returned with a steaming bowl in his hands, from which wafted the smell of ravioli. Sam grinned, delighted, and tried to sit up further. “Whoa, there, tiger. Just let me get you propped up. I am not nursing your ass through a relapse.”

“Sure, Dean.” Sam watched the bowl as Dean set it down, and craned his neck to peer around his brother’s form when Dean bent over him to lift him into a reclining position against a few pillows. Dean passed it over once he was satisfied and Sam fell in it like a starving wolf on a fresh killed deer. Way better than watery oatmeal, and it was a damn shame when he couldn’t finish the bowl. He allowed Dean to take it away with a mournful look.

“It’s okay. You can finish it later.” Dean shifted his chair so that he was closer and facing Sam a little more head-on. “How’d it happen, Sam?” he asked, nodding at Sam’s stomach. 

Sam looked away, reality crashing back in just that fast. “I was...stupid. That’s how.”

“That would surprise me a lot. Tell me.”

Sam looked down, chewing his lip as he gathered his thoughts. “Okay. When I go searching for the other psi-kids, it’s like...it’s like we’re all one huge ball of different colored threads, all tangled together. I pick one, and sort through the ball until I work it free.”

“Okay, that kinda makes sense. Go on,” Dean encouraged.

“Right, well. That ball has gotten steadily shorter. Each one that we found was one less in the general ball. But some of the threads just vanished, without me ever figuring out who it really was. I figure–either they died, or a demon got to them. I was racing at the end, fewer threads making it easier to sort out just one.”

“Like a whole mess of people talking all at once, and shutting up one by one?”

“Yes!” Sam lifted his head, smiling at Dean’s understanding. “That’s it exactly. And the quieter it gets, the easier it is to pick out just one voice, until you can track it back to the source.”

“We’ve had a lot of them through here lately. Tony’s been inking kids up like crazy, and the trailers are full of ‘em. Freaked out and just flat scared.”

“They’d been having dreams,” Sam told him softly. “Dreams of a woman with black eyes, making promises and suggesting they do some really unpleasant things.”

“So there’s a solid leader on their side now.”

“Definitely one at the head of the line for the position, if nothing else.”

“We knew it had to happen sooner or later,” Dean reminded him. “And we have a head’s up, which is important.”

“Yeah.”

“So?” Dean prompted after Sam had been quiet for a while. “That doesn’t explain your stomach. Talk to me, Sammy.”

With a sigh, Sam wormed his way onto his side, curled up towards Dean. “There was only one kid left. I got to her, but...there wasn’t much left. See, her ability was telepathy. You know the sci fi stories where somebody all of a sudden develops the ability to hear thoughts, and gets sent insane by the constant, unceasing noise?” Dean nodded soberly. “Combine that with dreams of a demon whispering things in your head. Her name was Mary.” Dean stiffened. “Mary Kathleen O’Mally, and she was very Catholic. So was her father. He was convinced she was possessed, because she babbled constantly with the thoughts that weren’t hers. He had to sedate her to give her any rest. I stood out...because she couldn’t hear my thoughts. Of all the people who were around her, who’d come and gone from their house in various attempts to help her, I was the only one that didn’t scream inside her brain. She was able to focus on me, on what I was saying, and block out the voices to a certain extent.”

“What happened?”

“Her father thought I was a demon,” he said simply, fully aware of the terrible irony. “It drove him over the edge. I’d had Ash and Lani stay at the motel. I didn’t want her feeling...ganged up on, or threatened in any way. I never saw him coming, Dean.” Wordless, Dean slid to the bed beside him, solid, warm support for Sam to lean against. “He’d gotten a knife from the kitchen. Mary heard him, though. Heard him, and heard what he intended to do, and when he came through her bedroom door, she pushed me out of the way and took a butcher’s knife to the chest. Her dad...dropped to his knees, holding her. I stood up, and he looked up at me with these eyes....he pulled the knife out of her chest and swiped at me, and I just fucking stood there, watching her bleed.” Sam shuddered, closing his eyes, unable to push away the memory of the blood pulsing out of Mary’s chest in smaller and smaller spurts. “I hardly felt the knife go in. It was a very sharp knife. The guy was a butcher.”

“How...did you survive?”

“I called 911. He must have thought he’d done for me, because he stabbed himself. He was dead, Mary too. The weird angle and my hip bones kept him from getting a really serious hit in. It was only the tiny slice in my intestines that made the doctor’s really worried.” 

Dean tugged and lifted him until Sam was draped over his lap, face resting against his chest. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “It wasn’t, Sam. The father was fucked up, and the girl...”

“Died to save me, all because I couldn’t manage to watch my back. I let my guard down, Dean. Don’t you get that? She was the last, and the most in need of help, and I got her killed because I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. The guy was old, Dean. Out of shape and ready to drop of a heart attack anyway. If I’d just...”

“Stop it. There was no way you could have known he’d think you were the Anti-Christ, Sam. I mean, what kind of idiot looks at you and thinks that?”

Unbidden, bitter laughter fell out of Sam’s mouth like bile. *he said...I might have to kill you, Sam* “More than you’d think.” He pushed off, getting himself back on the bed rather than his brother’s lap. “It’s fine, Dean. It happened, and there’s no undoing it. It won’t break me.”

“You just can’t let me help you with anything, can you?” Dean spat, thumping a fist into the bed. As suddenly angry as Sam was withdrawn. “Why the hell did you bring me here, if you’re just going to shut me out of everything, not let me help?”  
“Dean...dude, you shouldn’t be helping me. I’m supposed to be helping you, remember? I’ve done a lousy friggin job of it, I know. But if I manage nothing else, I’m at least going to keep you from having to deal with my baggage on top of everything else.”

Dean would certainly have said something to that. Opened his mouth, took a deep breath, all in preparation for what would undoubtedly have been a very scathing rebuttal. Except Ash chose that moment to poke his head in, the concept of knocking becoming foreign when it came to Sam on the other side of the door. “Jess! You’re awake again, man. Good deal.” Ash dropped a plastic bag beside the door before crawling up the bed, eyes flickering rapidly between the brothers. His gaze landed for several seconds on Dean, eyes growing coolly disapproving. “I brought your toothbrush.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Sam deadpanned, jabbing a finger into Ash’s side to get him to knock off the death glare. 

“You know it. So, wanna hear the latest, or are you ready to crash again?” Ash eyed him critically, getting nose to nose and crossing his eyes. “Nah, you’re good for a few more minutes, I think. Dean, you’ll enjoy this too. Lani...has developed a crush!” 

“...what?” Sam glanced at Dean, wondering if his brother had also heard that completely random thing fall out of Ash’s mouth. Dean shrugged back at him, pointedly raising his eyebrow in a ‘He’s your partner’ way.

“Lani? Four and a half foot tall, long brown hair, common sense of your average lemming? She’s got a crush.”

“Like, a junior high school girl crushing on, I dunno, Brad Pitt or someone type crush?” Dean clarified.

“Yup. Only she ain’t going for no movie star. She’s got a crush...on Jo.” Sam felt his eyebrows shoot to his hairline, glanced at Dean to see a similar expression of surprise there. Ash grinned, cheerful at their reaction. “Yup, our little Lani is thinking of taking a walk on the sapphic side.”

“And how does Jo feel about this?” Dean asked, eyes gleaming with interest. Sam couldn’t blame him, it being all too easy to picture the two young women together: Jo, blond and blue eyed, tall and slender. Lani, dark hair and eyes, short and curvy. Sam could attest to the fact that Lani, at least, was also damn flexible, and extremely generous in bed. Adventurous too. He’d never seen Jo hook up with anyone, although she used to have a crush on him.

“I think...Jo is considering it. Lani has a bit of hero worship for our Jo, and that’s something Jo ain’t seen a lot of.” Ash shrugged. “They could both do worse. Jo don’t have any practical experience, maybe, but she grew up around hunters. She’s got some moves she could maybe teach that girl. Not a bad diversion for either of them while we’re laid up here, at least.” He brightened even more. “Oh, and maybe once you’re back on your game, Jess, Lani will be too in love to be able to bear being separated, and will want to stay here!”  
Sam smacked him. “Don’t even think it, Ash. Lani would have Jo stealing a car and taking off with her inside of a week.” He shuddered, which was echoed by Ash, thinking of the mess the two girls could get into: Lani with her lack of common sense, jumping in with pure enthusiasm. Jo with her over confidence born of knowing her theory, of having been petted by grizzled old men like a talented pet.

“Still,” Dean mused. “It wouldn’t hurt either of them to...expand their horizons a bit. Experiment. Find themselves.” He turned gleaming eyes on Ash. “You got any, like, really small cameras? One that, maybe, would be really not noticeable?”

“No,” Sam said firmly. “Just no, Dean. Ash,” he warned. “Do either of even know where Jo’s room is? Do you?” Dean looked stumped, then shook his head. It had plainly never occurred to him to wonder before then. “It’s right off of Ellen’s room. In fact, you gotta go through Ellen’s room to get to Jo’s room. You really wanna risk getting on Ellen’s bad side?”

“Who says they’d use Jo’s room? Got all those trailers, and they aren’t all occupied all the time,” Ash said slyly.

Sam tugged the blanket a little higher up his chest, firmly closing his eyes. “Perverts. I’m going to pretend you never suggested that.”

“Buzz-kill,” Dean accused. Sam kept his eyes closed as he stuck his tongue out, already on his way back to sleep.

He remained in Dean’s trailer another two days. Ash stayed with him, preventing any further talk on the subject of Dean helping, or Mary, or anything else uncomfortable. Dean wasn’t stupid enough to not realize it, but short of physically removing Ash, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do. 

Dean refused to help get him into the house when he left. He didn’t even watch.

He spent another couple of days resting in his and Ash’s room. By then, he felt not only somewhat physically recovered, but completely disgusting. Ash had not allowed him to shower, fearing for his stitches. Sam, however, couldn’t take it any more. His stitches would handle getting wet, and he would just be really careful to not fall and pull them. They were due to come out anyway. So Sam snuck down to the bathroom, clean clothes in hand. It was disheartening how quickly his energy faded under the hot spray, how much of his upper body mobility he no longer had thanks to the injury to his abdominal muscles. Once upon a time, he’d had reserves of energy. Apparently, he no longer did, and couldn’t tell you why not.

Still, pure stubbornness carried him through the shower and out. Dressed in clean sweats and long sleeved tee, he tottered his way out to the bar. Ash would have some kind of fit, he knew. But he needed to be in touch with what was going on. Not sheltered and coddled while he ‘recovered’. Entering the bar was a surprise. The roadhouse was normally a quiet place. No more than a dozen or so patrons at any given time, and at that, they were usually hunters who kept to themselves. At the moment, however, the place was fairly hopping with twenty-somethings. The hunters that Sam recognized didn’t look happy, and were eyeing the kids around the place with open suspicion. Sam took a closer look, realizing only then that the kids...were all his. Other psychics, with Tony over in the corner, presiding like a queen. Jaw dropping, Sam made his way to the bar, gratefully letting his weight sink onto a stool.

Ellen was there in moments. “Jesse. You should be in bed,” she scolded. “Ash is gonna kill you.”

“Yeah, probably. I was going a little stir crazy, though. Plus, I stank, so...” He shrugged. “What’s going on around here, Ellen?” His eyes flickered around the place, indicating the mixed crowd. “Why are all of them here?”

“You sent them, Jesse.”

“I sent them to get a tattoo. For their protection. I didn’t send them to invade the place,” he hissed. 

“These kids are scared, and they feel better staying here. They’re willing to help fight.” Ellen ducked away for a moment to refill someone’s beer. When she came back, she put a soda down in front of him. “I’ll admit, all the changes are hard to get used to. I have a feeling I’m not going to much recognize the place when it’s all said and done.” She looked around, a funny little smile on her face. “When Bill and I opened this place...we hoped it would turn out to be a home for hunters. For some, it almost was. But it’s always been more of a rest stop than a home, and none of them much let down their guard even here. I think your Tony is gonna help me change that. Because as much as they might growl, most of the cranky old bastards that come in here are enjoying having eager ears listening to their stories and calling them hero.” She patted his shoulder. “Let it happen, Jess, and don’t worry so much about it. This is a good change.” Her eyes flickered to something over Sam’s shoulder that made her mouth twitch. “It was nice to see you up and about. You go on and get some rest, Jesse.”

“Huh?” Sam turned, hissing as still healing muscles protested, and saw Dean standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Sam smiled tentatively, abruptly wishing Ash hadn’t gone ahead to restock the van. The smile wasn’t returned as Dean stalked over to him. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“See, this is why I didn’t want you moving back to the house yet,” Dean snapped, ignoring his question. “You don’t have the sense God gave a poodle when you’re hurt.” He grabbed Sam by both arms and lifted him to his feet as nearby heads turned to check out the source of the loud, cranky voice. “C’mon, you need to get your ass back to bed before you pop something. Where the hell is Ash anyway? I thought he was going to be looking after you.” Dean grumbled the entire way back to Sam and Ash’s room, where he proceeded to tuck Sam into bed as though he were five. “You never answered my question, you know. Where is Ash?” Dean finished, plumping Sam’s pillow behind his head.

“You weren’t shutting up long enough to let me,” Sam pointed out. “And Ash went to restock the van. We’re low on a few things, so...”

“You’re kidding me! It can’t possibly be that urgent to have the thing stocked. It’s not like you’ll be out there any time soon. It could have waited.”

“Uh, no. Not really. If I get a vision, or one of the kids calls with something that needs to be checked out, it’s better if the van is already stocked.” Dean opened his mouth, face darkening with anger. “Ash will go alone. I don’t figure to be back on my feet for another few weeks.” He plucked at the blanket nervously, half afraid that Dean would take the opportunity to bring up uncomfortable topics. “Wanna watch a movie with me, or do you...where’s Jason? I haven’t seen him–or heard him–since I got here.”

Dean met his gaze steadily. “He’s with dad,” he said, half challenge, and Sam swallowed down the urge to tell Dean to go get him. It was none of his business anyway. 

“Okay. Well, if you got the time, you wanna watch a movie or something? I’m going freaking nuts here, man. Bored out of my skull.”

Dean frowned down at him a moment longer, then nodded. “Okay. Sure.” He crossed over to the entertainment center (facing the nest, all the better to watch porn) and started to peruse titles.

“Probably wanna keep to the bottom two shelves,” Sam called over. “The rest are all Ash’s porn collection.” Dean glanced back at him, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. There were six shelves full of dvd’s. Sam could almost hear him doing the math and coming up with...

“That’s a fucking shit-load of fucking,” Dean said, sounding almost awed, eyes scanning the shelves again. “Damn. What the hell...is that some kind of cartoon? He’s got cartoon porn?”

“Yup. Mostly anime, but there’s some American made stuff in there too. Lot if it’s there for the novelty. If you’re looking for the quality stuff, the stuff he swears is the best? That’s the top shelf and half the second. Snag Ghostbusters when you’re done ogling the dirty movies.”

After a few more minutes of Dean pawing through the porn, he reluctantly pulled himself away and located the requested movie. It had been a favorite of theirs growing up, and still was. Sam doubted he’d stay awake through the whole thing. He’d already expended more energy than his body could probably spare, and had irritated his belly on top of it. Sleep was beckoning, but he’d fight it off as long as he could, provided Dean didn’t start in with the uncomfortable stuff. The way Sam saw it, there was probably another four to six weeks of him being laid up for Dean to jump him with that stuff. He could wait.

Whether Dean agreed with that assessment or simply realized that Sam was on his way to sleep didn’t matter. What mattered to Sam right then was the part where Dean put the movie on and came to flop beside him in the nest. Their shoulders just brushed, and they both let loose with the theme song as the movie got started. Smiling, Sam settled a little closer. He had the oddest notion that everything was going to be...just fine.

April 7th, 2006

Sam knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it wasn’t going to be a good day. He kept himself at a distance, watching while John stayed close to Dean and Jason, the two of them sharing a rapport that Sam wasn’t included in. Then, as evening approached, John silently took charge of Jason, waving Dean towards the business end of the bar. Sam took his turn then, swiping a bottle of Jack and a couple beers, and wordlessly leading Dean to a corner table. Dean didn’t say anything at first. He also didn’t touch the beer, hand going straight for the bottle of Jack.

Silently, Sam stuck to the beer for himself. It wasn’t, he knew full well, what he drank with his brother so much as the fact that he was drinking with him. It helped as well that the bar was unusually quiet at the moment. Most of the psi-kids had returned, finally, to their homes and families. A few others were out there with some experienced hunters. The Trio had, for the time being, split up, each one taking one other psi-kid on a hunt to start showing them the ropes. Bobby had even taken Lani off their hands, wanting her help with a water wraith that had made its home in the water hazard of a golf course. Even Tony was absent, gone to a cousin’s wedding. It was so much better that way. Dean would be far more comfortable with a smaller audience to this particular occasion.

“She couldn’t cook, you know,” Dean told him out of the blue. There was a respectable portion of whisky gone from the bottle, all down his throat. Sam opened the second bottle of beer, settling in for the talking portion of the evening.

“Really? Not at all?”

“Not at all, Sam. I don’t know how she managed, but she could ruin a microwave dinner. Hell, she tried to make a cake from a mix. It wasn’t just hard as a rock, it was freakin’ sour.” Dean chuckled, shaking his head, and downed another shot.

“Man. That’s...could she at least make coffee?”

“Sort of. If I had everything set up for her and all she had to do was press the button. Otherwise? Burnt sludge or lightly tinted water was what we’d get.”

Sam reached out to pour Dean another shot. “Tell me more,” he urged.

So Dean did. His mouth opened and when booze wasn’t going in, memories were coming out. Stupid little stories, random tidbits, whatever crossed his mind, he told Sam everything. Sam knew what this was, this strange seeming purging. Holidays were bad enough, especially the first couple after you’d lost someone. But when it came around to certain dates...anniversaries were killers, but so were birthdays. Cassie would have turned twenty-six that day. Should have, and it twisted something deep inside to know that someone you loved would never get another birthday, never get a single day older ever again.  
The talking helped keep Dean from drinking too fast. But the bottle was still half gone before midnight, and Sam had cracked the seal less than five hours previous. There was the slightest hint of a slur to Dean’s words. Sam had known his brother to get falling down drunk and still not slur his words all that much.

“I miss her,” Dean said mournfully, staring down into his empty shot glass. “I didn’t think I would miss her. Not like this. How can I be missing her like this?”

Sam moved to refill Dean’s glass. “I know, man. I know how you feel,” he said, chest aching with the memory of losing Jess. He gasped as his hand was grabbed painfully tight, whisky sloshing over onto the table. “Dean! What...”

“How dare you say that?” Dean snarled. “How dare you? You know how I feel?!” He squeezed until Sam dropped the bottle then shoved Sam’s hand back towards him. “You’ve never fucking known what it’s like to lose someone, you selfish little shit. And you’re gonna go all–“ he waved his hands, sputtering a little. “Whatever. You don’t get to say shit like that. Not when you don’t know, you don’t have a clue, you’re the one that left anyway, and she died because of you! I was out, but because of you she died and dragged me back in! So don’t you dare say shit like that!” Dean lurched to his feet, yelling the last few words right into Sam’s face, whisky tainted spit raining down over him. 

Sam just stared, wide-eyed, up into his brother’s furious face. He thought Dean might actually take a swing at him for a moment. But no, when Sam didn’t respond at all, Dean just snorted and turned to stomp unsteadily away. Oddly lightheaded, Sam dug out a bandana from his back pocket to try to wipe up the spilled whiskey. The thin cloth, generally kept on his person only for the purpose of wiping away fingerprints, which habit made him keep there even during down time, wasn’t up to the task. Ellen appeared at his side, face a mask of sympathy, with a bar rag in her hand. It worked a lot better. “Don’t take what he said seriously, Jesse,” she murmured. “He’s grieving, and people say and do stuff when they’re grieving...”

“I know grief, Ellen,” Sam interrupted. “I know how it is. Sorry about the mess.” He wasn’t talking just about the whisky. He got up, limbs heavy, to walk woodenly to the bedroom. Ash glanced up, took one look at his face, and pushed away from his computers. He didn’t ask any questions as Sam tried to climb into his skin, and put up no resistence. He even pretended that Sam wasn’t crying.

Sam didn’t budge from the bedroom, except for a couple trips to the bathroom, all the next day and into the day after that. Whether Dean had meant to say it or not, it was the simple truth: if Dean were related to almost anyone other than Sam, he wouldn’t have lost his wife. Hell, he’d still have a mother, if only Sam hadn’t been born. All his family’s grief, the pain and loss and hardships, were his fault. His feeling that things were going to be okay seemed childish in the extreme, like a child hiding under his blanket from the boogeyman.

It was anyone’s guess as to how long he would have continued to hide there. But the evening of the ninth, Jo came knocking on their door. Ash answered, speaking in low tones for a few moments, their whispers muffled some by the sound of a spring storm hitting the roof. Sam was just fine with ignoring them until Ash called his name with a rare note of urgency to his voice. “Jess, I think you need to get up, man.” He shooed Jo off with a nod as Sam reluctantly sat up. “There’s a guy out in the bar, he’s got your dad cornered. Jo said she heard him introduce himself as Jake. Said your dad doesn’t look happy.”

It took a couple seconds for that to register through the self pity. When it did, he felt a surge of something like exultation in his chest. He stood up, uncaring of the fact that he lacked both shirt and shoes, taking a second only to check that his gun was loaded. “Anyone else out there?”

“It’s Sunday, so no. Just ours. Jesse, what are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna take care of some business.” With that, Sam brushed past his partner and headed out to the bar. He walked through the door, drawing a bead on Jake right away. “Hello, Jake. Aren’t you meant to be in Afghanistan?” All eyes landed on him–and his gun.

“Whoa!” Jake raised his hands innocently. “What’s your issue, man?”

“You’re too close to my father. Get up and move away. Slowly, Jake. Slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them,” Sam ordered. Jake obeyed, keeping his hands out to the side. “Dad, Dean, Ellen, you’d best keep your distance from this guy. He’s bad news.” John got up from the table he’d been sitting at and moved over to the bar, carefully keeping himself out from Sam’s line of fire. Dean, on the other hand, walked right up to Sam and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sammy, what are you doing? He’s just a guy,” he murmured.

“Just a guy? No, not really. Jake here is one of the demon touched. And he’s not one of mine.” He shook Dean off and walked a few steps closer, eyes and gun never wavering. “Ash, keep everyone back, if you would.”

“Sure thing, Jess.” His assurance was accompanied by the sound of a hammer being cocked, probably on Ash’s favorite little .38. 

“So, Jake. Wanna tell me why you’re here?” Sam asked pleasantly.

“Wanna get the piece outta my face?” Jake shot back. 

“Not until my questions are answered. You don’t wanna answer, I’ll just shoot you.” He shrugged. “No skin off my back either way.”

“Easy, man. You wanna talk, we can talk. I been sent to do a little business, deliver a message. That’s all.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s hear the message.”  
Jake hesitated, eyes flicking around the room. Ash was armed, and no doubt keeping it aimed at Jake. It was also entirely likely that Ellen was armed as well, if not John and Dean too. Even if Jake lunged and managed to get Sam’s gun from him, he’d be dead before he could use it. He wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box, but he wasn’t so stupid he couldn’t see that, either. “Okay. I’m supposed to tell a guy named Winchester that the lady I work for isn’t gonna keep playing nice. She said to tell him that what happened back in November was just to get the old guy’s attention. If he wants to keep it from happening to his boys, he’ll hand over some old gun. A Colt. That’s all, guy.”

“That’s all?” Sam said incredulously. “That’s bullshit! Do you even know what the fuck it is you’re doing? Do you? That woman is a demon, you moron!” Jake didn’t even twitch, telling them all that he knew that perfectly well. “You know what she is, and you’re still working for her. Man, you really are a piece of shit. How about this. What happened in November was the brutal murder of my sister in law. It would have been her and my nephew, except for some heavy duty protections on his crib. You get that? That bitch whose ass you’re kissing is just fine with killing not just innocent women, but infants, too.”

“Sounds to me like all the more reason to do what she says.”

“No, sounds more like all the more reason to kill her.”

“Demons can’t be killed. You send ‘em back to hell, they’ll just crawl back out again, madder than they started.”

“Did she tell you that?” Sam sneered. “And you bought it. That’s a load of shit. We killed her daddy, and we’ll kill her, too. Why don’t you crawl on back to her and tell her that, messenger-boy.”

“Can’t. I can’t go back without the gun. Give me that and I’ll gladly be on my way.”

“Huh. Dad, would you go frisk this demon loving piece of shit?” Sam grinned with all the warmth of a shark and twice as many teeth.

“Sure.” John cautiously approached Jake, still keeping out of Sam’s line of fire. He went behind the other man and frisked him thoroughly from behind. John lifted three knives, a set of keys, a .9 mm, and a cell phone from various places on Jake’s person. “That looks like all of it,” he grunted, doing a final pat down. The frustration in Jake’s eyes confirmed that.

“Good. Outside, Jake.” Sam followed as Jake, still with hands raised, walked outside. He passed the table that held the confiscated items and swiftly palmed one of the knives. It had a slender, four inch blade, and tucked easily into his pocket, out of sight. 

Outside, the rain was sheeting down, making it difficult to see very far ahead. It was also frigid, the ground not long from being frozen, and with his bare feet and lack of shirt, Sam was almost instantly shivering. He ignored the discomfort as Jake turned to face him again. “So now what?”  
“Now?” Sam repeated. “Now, we fight. If you win, I’ll tell you where to find the Colt.”

“And if you win?” Jake asked.

“You won’t have to worry about that.” Sam flicked the safety on and passed the gun back to whoever was closest behind him. Because of course none of them would have stayed behind. With the gun safely out of Jake’s reach, Sam moved forward, limbs loosening as he readied himself to fight. “Hey, Jake.”

“What?” Jake snapped, settling into his own fighting stance.

“You know how, when you were little, your momma used to tell you how special and unique you are?” A grin split his face, making Jake blink at him in bewilderment. “She lied!” He spun and kicked, foot landing solidly in the middle of the other man’s chest. Jake went flying back, the supernatural strength that he’d no doubt been relying on turned against him. He struck the side of a rusted out Chevy pickup, probably the vehicle Jake had stolen to get himself there. The whole thing rocked, side window shattering, windshield spider-webbing with the force of the impact.

Sam knew just how badly that kind of hit could hurt. He also knew that it was possible to get up and fight through the pain. So he didn’t allow Jake a chance to recover. This wasn’t a contest; not really. This was his own revenge, even if Jake would never know why. He reached the other man as Jake was pushing himself unsteadily back to his feet. His right fist darted out, blocked at the last second by Jake, although the left that he followed up with connected. 

Jake wasn’t going to go down that easy, though. He kicked, which Sam easily dodged, and followed through with a punch of his own that connected. It staggered Sam back a few steps, giving Jake a precious few moments to recover and advance. Sam met him head on, and the fight started in earnest. With the rain and mud, not to mention the speed with which they were going at each other, an onlooker would have been hard pressed to describe the fight. In the middle of it, Sam was barely aware of what he was doing, allowing his body to react as it would, as years of training and fighting for his life dictated. Jake had certainly received some serious training in the military, but Sam had grown up learning to fight at the knee of a Marine. He landed another kick that had Jake landing a few feet away. Sam was quick to take advantage, pinning the other man with his own body, knees pressed to shoulders, and drew his hand back for a solid, probably bone-breaking hit. “Who the fuck are you?” Jake gasped out, blood tinged saliva washing away under the rain that continued to fall.

“Sam Winchester. Did she never tell you my name, or were you just not paying attention when I said it was my sister in law that was murdered?”

“Wait!” Jake tried to shake him off, with no success. “Wait, she’s been looking for you. You-you come with me, she’ll make you her general. You’ll have the world at your feet, man, all you gotta do is let me bring you to her.” Sam hit him, once and then again, feeling the snap of bone beneath his fist. Jake’s mouth worked, trying to speak, unable to do so with the pain of the breaks.

“Fuck you, you little bitch,” Sam snarled. “The only thing I’m gonna let you do is die!” He pulled his hand back, and Jake brought a leg up, knee connecting with the middle of Sam’s back. Sam fell forward, assisted by Jake getting his hands free and shoving. Sam twisted in the mud, ready to meet the next attack. But Jake didn’t seem interested in anything but running away, broken and bleeding, and Sam wasn’t going to let him go. Jake was capable of so many awful things, from the relatively minor, like stabbing someone in the back like the coward that he was, to opening the door to hell in order to bring about the end of the world. Whether he was evil or just so much a coward that he’d do anything to live didn’t matter to Sam; he was a threat that was going to be eliminated. No matter what any of the people watching them from the house might think of him for it. 

The little four inch blade slid in, easy as pie, right through Jake’s spinal cord. Jake gasped, broken mouth gaping wide, eyes bulging from his face. It was over in seconds, although Sam could remember just how long those seconds could feel. “I hope you enjoy hell, you traitorous cunt,” he hissed as the last hint of life faded from Jake’s eyes.

Dean was the first to reach him, skidding to a stop in the mud and dropping to his knees beside Sam. “You okay? Jesus, I’ve never seen someone go flying from being hit, how fucking strong was he? Sammy?” He was babbling, hands running over Sam’s skin, pressing on ribs and already darkening bruises. Sam flinched away from the probing, only then realizing that his ribs were cracked, if not outright broken. “We should get you wrapped up tight. God, Sammy....” Dean finally slumped, hands stilling, eyes falling to Jake’s body on the ground beside them. “You-you killed him.”

“Yeah. I killed him.” Sam looked away, looked at the body. “I’d do it again, too. I’m not sorry for it. He’d have opened the Devil’s Gate without a second thought, Dean.”

“You...know that for sure?”

“I saw it,” Sam told him, not mentioning that it hadn’t been a vision, but real life. It was still the truth. He looked up as more bodies surrounded them, meeting, briefly, the eyes of every person there. Even his dad’s. The only one who looked at him with horror was Jo. Ash, Ellen, and John all seemed to understand. Or at least think they understood. There was no condemnation there, which was all that mattered. “I better deal with the body.” Sam started to his feet, other aches and pains beginning to make themselves known now that the adrenaline was leaving him.

“I’ll take care of it,” John rumbled. “You go and shower before you get sick.” Sam flinched slightly from the sound of his voice but nodded. He had plans to finalize, and the more the people around him were distracted, the easier those plans would be.

He let Dean help him to his feet, but pulled away once he was upright. “Thanks. You should go change, you’re almost as muddy as I am.” Gifting Dean with a funny little smile, Sam started towards the roadhouse, dismissing the body in the mud as John’s problem now. Ash fell into step beside him, not saying a word all through the trip through the house to the bathroom, or through the shower he took. He didn’t say anything until Sam was dry and dressed in clean jeans and ready to have his ribs wrapped. “You feel better now, you got him back?”

“Yes,” Sam told him simply. “I do.” Ash raised an eyebrow at him. “I’d have left him alone if he hadn’t come here, if he hadn’t joined her. But he didn’t and he did, so it was better to take him out before he caused any more problems. Besides, I owed him.” Ash finished bandaging him up then gave him a little shove towards the door. 

“Shoo. I’m gonna try to backtrack him. That truck had license plates from Kentucky.” Easily dismissing him, Ash settled at his computers and didn’t look up again as Sam pulled a shirt on over his head and left. 

It was cliche the way the voices cut off when he walked into the bar. Ellen and Jo stared at him, no sign of John or Dean. The pair of them were still wet, and Jo’s eyes narrowed at him. “What was he?” she demanded bluntly. “What kind of creature was he that you went ahead and killed him?”

“He was human, Jo. And I’m sorry you had to see that, but there was nothing else to be done. He was willingly working for a demon, and there’s never any coming back from that.” 

“How do you know? Jesse, he was human, you can’t just go around killing humans! It’s wrong.”

“We’re at war, Jo. And he was the enemy. Just the same as any spirit or demon. He chose to be what he was, when he had all the same choices as the rest of us. He was a danger to all of us, and he would have continued to be a danger to all of us as long as he lived.” He looked at Ellen when Jo didn’t seem to understand. “You want me gone?”

“Don’t be foolish, Jesse. Jo, honey, why don’t you go get changed before you get sick.” Jo huffed, tossed her hair, and stomped out. Sam didn’t doubt that she’d be on the phone to Lani. The pair of them got closer every day, although Sam was pretty sure they hadn’t yet kissed. It was entirely possible that this would finish curing Jo of her unfortunate crush on him, at least enough that she gave in and tried things out with Lani. That was a good thing, he decided. Ellen gave him an understanding look before following her daughter. 

Perfect. Jake’s things were still sitting on the table where John had left them. The weapons he would probably ditch somewhere, seeing as how they were probably just as stolen as the truck had been. He wouldn’t give a gun that had likely been used in a crime to anyone he knew. It’d be too hard for them to explain if the cops ever got involved. But the cell phone he kept. The cell phone had a listing for a Meg, whose number Sam found to be vaguely familiar. Which made him wonder if it was somehow the same number she’d given him at the bar in Chicago. Whatever, it didn’t matter so long as the number was there.

From there, he went outside to check on his long unused motorcycle. He still hated the thing, hated the idea of riding it in the middle of a particularly cold spring, but it would have to do. He’d kept it in working order as a matter of course. All he needed to do was double check the spare supplies tucked into the saddlebags (a change of clothes, small first aid kit, sawed off shotgun and a handful each of normal shells and salt shells, and two different sized knives) and verify that it had a full tank of gas and would start. He would roll it out to the road later, when everyone was asleep.

After that, he went to check the lines. It was a precaution only; he was fairly sure that Meg would have come herself instead of sending a tool like Jake to do her dirty work if she could have. He still wanted to be certain that the roadhouse’s primary defense was intact. He knew all too well that simply consecrating the ground wouldn’t keep the stronger demons out.

It was full dark by the time he got back. He went right for Dean’s trailer, the lights on telling him that his brother was there rather than at the bar. The door was opened less than thirty seconds after his knock, and Dean was yanking him inside a moment later. “Christ, Sam, I thought you’d come see me as soon as you showered. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Sam leaned against the door, hands tucked into his armpits to try to warm them up. “We’re probably going to be leaving at some point soon, Ash is trying to backtrack Jake, see if maybe the demon he was working for has a home base or something.” Dean froze, staring at him. Sam wasn’t surprised, there’d been no evidence of either him or Ash wanting to get back on the road since they’d come back with him injured. Dean had probably figured on his sticking around for a good long while yet. “Before we do, whenever that is, there’s something I want to say to you.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for Cassie, I’m sorry for our whole fucked up lives, and I’m sorry about mom. I’m a lousy excuse for a brother, and I know that, and I’d do anything to give you the life you deserve to have.”

“Sam, what the hell? That’s not true!” Dean protested.

“Yes. It is. And you know it, even if you won’t let yourself think about it without whisky to smooth the way. There are so many things I have to apologize for, and I’ll never really be able to. I know that, Dean, I do. I just hope that you’ll be able to forgive me anyway. I...”

“That’s enough!” Dean snarled, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. “Jesus, did he smack the stupid into you earlier or what? You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, and even if you did, I’d have forgiven you already. Don’t you get that? You’re my brother, man.” He shook him again. “I don’t ever wanna hear you talking like this again. You got me?”

“Dean...you said it yourself the other night,” Sam reminded him. “You may not like it, but it’s still the truth.”

“Fuck what I said the other night. I’m an asshole, and I didn’t mean a single word of it! She’s dead because of me. Because I was stupid enough to forget that once this shit touches you, you can never get away from it. It’s my fault, and I don’t do guilt well. It was easier to blame you than own up to what I did.” Sam could only stare at him, eyes wide, absolutely at a loss for words. “I love you, you fucking idiot! I love you, and none of this shit is your fault!”

“Oh,” Sam whispered. “Oh, I...I think I should go.” He squeezed his eyes shut and groped blindly for the door handle. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Dean captured his hand with one of his own, his other burying in Sam’s hair. “Please don’t run from me again, Sammy. Please. I know you probably don’t love me anymore. Not after I left you and everything you’ve been through the last few years. But please don’t run from me anymore.”

“How can you even...? Of course I still love you. Everything I do is for you. And there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you. I....” Dean cut him off with a bruising, urgent kiss. He pressed himself full length against Sam, so tight that Sam couldn’t help but feel his erection. His body responded to that whether he wanted it to or not, cock rising fast and urgent inside his jeans. He kissed back without stopping to consider it, without pausing to wonder if it was a good idea or not. Good idea, bad idea, it didn’t much matter in the face of Dean’s desire. His own desire worked against him anyway, and there wasn’t anyone watching to remind him that he was second choice.

Dean guided him with frantic hands and frantic kisses away from the door, all the way to his bedroom. Their clothing marked their passage, a couple popped buttons mute testimony to their haste. Sam was tumbled down onto the bed on his back, Dean on top of him. The pain from his ribs protesting was almost enough to jar him out of the haze of need clouding his mind. Almost. But Dean swept a hand down his side in apology, ending with it curved over his hip, thumb lightly stroking the smooth skin, and the pain was forgotten. Sam gasped against his mouth, arching into the touch. He’d forgotten how completely his skin came alive under Dean’s hands.

Breaking away, Dean kissed a path down his neck, over his chest, tongue tracing the outline of the phoenix before delving briefly into his belly button. Sam pushed his hips up, whining wordlessly for a more intimate touch. Dean stilled him by grabbing his hips in both hands, then delicately lapped at the head of Sam’s cock, tasting the drop of clear fluid seeping out. They both groaned, and Dean ducked his head to swallow half his length in one go. Sam fisted a hand in his hair, the other twisted in the blankets beneath him. “Dean, God, Dean,” he panted. “Please, I need you, I...God!” 

With an obscene slurp, Dean pulled off to crawl back up his body, settling between his legs. Sam tensed at the position, but Dean kissed him again, letting Sam taste his own flavor mixed with the taste of Dean’s mouth. He’d never forgotten that taste, dreamed about it sometimes, and he bit almost savagely at Dean’s lips in his efforts to get more of it. Dean stretched oddly, body straining while he kept his mouth on Sam’s. Then he sat up, one hand restlessly running all over Sam’s chest and belly, randomly pinching his nipples or scratching the sensitive skin on his sides. In his other hand was a white tube, partially squished. Sam propped himself on his elbows as Dean flipped open the cap and squeezed the clear gel onto Sam’s belly. Dean discarded the tube over the edge of the bed and dipped his fingers into it. He slid his slick hand down between Sam’s legs, and Sam...froze.   
He wanted it. He did. He wanted to feel Dean splitting him open and filling him. But his body’s last memory of being taken was one of pain, and he’d done nothing to change that in three years. Before he could decide which way he was going to go, Dean slid a single finger inside him and did some freezing of his own. Sam hadn’t ever bothered with verifying anything, but the doctor in charge of his care had gruffly informed him that there would be scarring. There was no doubt in his mind that Dean was feeling some of that scarring, and Sam very much didn’t want to talk about it. Besides which, it was his last chance. So he laid back down and spread his legs wider, fisting his dick. “C’mon, Dean. Do it, I wanna feel you,” he said, voice low and rasping, just the way he remembered Dean liking it. “I’ve missed feeling you in me, fucking me deep and hard, c’mon....” 

Dean studied him, licking his lips, eyes full of questions and horrible realization. But he didn’t ask, and he did start moving his finger. The whole feel of things had changed, though, no longer urgent, but gentle. Dean opened him slowly, carefully, making sure there was more than enough lube to ease entry. Sam kept stroking his cock, keeping that edge of pleasure there, assisted by Dean’s intimate knowledge of his body. Dean remembered how he liked to be touched, unerringly found and stroked his prostate, until he was twisting on the fingers inside him. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, Dean, do it now.” He reached out, needing Dean’s skin beneath his hands and Dean’s mouth covering his own. 

“Shh,” Dean soothed, slowly withdrawing his fingers. “Shh, in a second, Sammy.” He scooped up the last of the lube to spread over his nearly purple cock, then lined up. He pushed in slowly, pausing at every gasp, every hint of tension, and it was a fight for Sam to let him in. He had to keep his eyes open and locked onto Dean’s face, allowing memories older than the one of his father to surface. Finally, Dean was all the way in, and Sam pulled his head down for a desperate kiss. Dean started to move, making kissing impossible, and all Sam could do was sink his teeth into his brother’s shoulder and his fingers into Dean’s ass. Dean groaned harshly at the bite, hips speeding up and head tucking down so he could press his face into Sam’s sweat slick neck. He wormed a hand between their bodies to stroke Sam’s cock, both of them already on the brink. Sam bit a little harder, earning the taste of copper on his tongue, and his body seized with the force of his orgasm. Dean fucked into him even faster at that, falling over the edge himself as Sam slowly began to come down from the high.

The room was filled with the sound of their harsh breathing. As his heartbeat slowed back to normal, Sam lifted his mouth away from Dean’s shoulder, dismayed to see the angry, bleeding bite. “Damn,” he whispered. “‘m sorry, man. That’s gotta hurt.”

Snorting, Dean moved carefully to the side so that he was laying half on, half off of Sam’s body, keeping one leg between both of Sam’s. “Don’t you remember the picnic table in Fairfax?” he murmured, nuzzling a little into Sam’s neck. “That hurt a hell of a lot worse, and all you did was laugh.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Sam protested. “That was all your fault. I told you that thing looked ready to fall apart. But oh, no. You had to get fucked, right then and there.” He let his hand drift down to find the thin scar, hidden in the crease where butt met thigh. It had been one hell of a splinter, and Dean had just been lucky that it had gone in there, rather than somewhere even more sensitive when the table gave out beneath them.

“What can I say, I was in the mood,” Dean laughed. Sam rolled his eyes, turning his face for some nuzzling of his own. He would never get enough of the taste of Dean on his tongue. Turning serious, Dean cupped his face. “Sam, what happened? I felt...it felt like...”

Sam put a hand over his mouth, stopping the stumbling words. “Don’t, Dean. Not now. Okay? Not now.” Hesitating, Dean eventually nodded. Relieved, Sam let his hand fall, and Dean took the opportunity to kiss him again. The kiss grew heated very quickly, and Sam rolled them over so that he was straddling his brother for round two.

Three in the morning found them resting up for round three. Sam, at least, was soaking in the contact, trying to memorize the feel of Dean against him. Dean seemed more interested in tracing his tattoos. “You know, when you were out of your head with the fever, I couldn’t figure out why Ash wouldn’t let me strip you,” he mused. “I’m guessing this is why?”

“Hmm, yeah. I got ‘em for me, not for show, and they’re...pretty private.” Sam lay on his stomach, shivering pleasantly at the feeling of callused fingertips running lightly over his skin. 

Dean traced the image of the old fashioned iron blade that seemed to pierce him in the middle of his back, blood dripping down from the wound. “I don’t get this one. I know you got that guy in the same place, practically. What’s the meaning behind that?”

Sam twisted over onto his back, hiding the image from Dean. “Dean, there are a lot of stories I can tell you. But not right now. Not here. They aren’t happy or even pleasant, and I don’t wanna think about them right now. Is that okay?”

“For now,” Dean allowed. “But I’ll hear them eventually.”

Sam forced a smile. “Yeah. Eventually.”

“So what about this one?” Dean touched his arm, where an image of hands (Sam’s hands, although Tony had never really mentioned that) were cupped protectively around a set of numbers and letters. J.S.W. 8-10-05. “I didn’t even know you knew when his birthday was.”

“Dude, I’d put your average stalker to shame,” Sam said ruefully. “No matter how hard I tried, I just...couldn’t make myself let go completely. Ash had a computer whose sole purpose was keeping tabs on you. I knew the moment his name was entered in the hospital’s computer records.” Dean grinned like he thought that was the best thing ever. “Shut up, man. You should be thanking me, Mr. Can’t-Balance-His-Checking-Account.” The smile off his face in favor of the wounded dignity look. “Oh yeah, I know all about every bounced check. I had Ash tweak the bank’s records for you each time. Didn’t you ever wonder why you never got charged?”

“....I thought I had really stupid bankers,” Dean admitted. Sam snorted at him. Then jumped, as a thin, tinny sounding cry came out of the small receiver on the bedside table. “Damn, I was afraid of that.” Dean rolled out of bed and grabbed a pair of boxers off the floor. Sam didn’t think they were the same boxers Dean had stripped off just a few hours ago, which meant there was no telling how long they’d been there. Some things really never changed. “He played with supper more than he ate it,” he explained. “So he’s hungry. This won’t take long.” 

Sam rolled out of bed as Dean left the room, feeling a familiar ache in his backside. Ignoring it, and the way it made his breath hitch for reasons he wasn’t going to examine, he dug through Dean’s dresser until he found clean underwear and helped himself to a pair. Decent, he followed the sound of a baby crying out to the kitchen, where Dean was already mixing up a bottle with Jason on his hip. It was almost obscene, he realized. Dean holding a baby, mixing a bottle, with scratch marks from jagged nails down his back, a scabbed over bite mark on his shoulder, and a hickey just above his left nipple. 

Flushing, he hesitantly joined the pair in the kitchen, straddling a chair to watch Dean. Dean sat down across from him, smiling happily as his son greedily latched onto the bottle and sucked with noisy slurps. “He’s got your appetite,” Sam noted. “He even sounds like you.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it,” Dean said cheerfully. “Here, wanna feed him? It’s pretty cool.”

Sam leaned back, hands held out. “Uh, no thanks, dude.” He saw Dean’s face fall, a frown beginning to form. “Dean, c’mon, I’m, y’know, covered in dried spunk. No way am I holding a baby while covered in dried spunk, it just wouldn’t be right.” Which was true enough, if not the real reason. But it mollified Dean, who went back to focusing on his noisy son. Half-way through the bottle, Dean paused to deliver those seemingly too hard pats to his back. When the expected belch was delivered, he let Jason finish the bottle. Jason fell asleep with a couple ounces left to go, not waking even when Dean patted his back for another hearty belch. Fed, burped, and sleeping soundly once more, Jason was put back to bed. Dean shut the door on his son’s room, eyes raking over Sam where he waited a little awkwardly in the hall, gaze darkening. Sam let himself be tugged back into the bedroom for round three.

It was nearing dawn when Sam lifted his head from Dean’s shoulder. His brother was sleeping deeply, lips parted slightly. He leaned up for a barely there kiss. “I’ll miss you,” he breathed, not wanting to risk waking him, but needing to tell Dean anyway. “I’ll fix things, you’ll see.” He slipped out of bed then, before it could get any more difficult. Dean snuffled in his sleep, body turning toward where Sam used to be, but still didn’t wake. 

On silent feet, Sam stole through the trailer, donning what clothing he could find in the pre-dawn gloom. He was missing a sock and his boxers, but didn’t waste further time searching them out. The door shut silently behind him when he left. Unlike the door to the roadhouse, which always squeaked. The bonus there being that Sam had been in the habit of going for random runs at all hours of the day and night, and the other occupants were well used to that. They slept through the faint disturbance, allowing him to creep unnoticed into Ash’s room. 

As he’d hoped, Ash had fallen asleep at his bank of computers. Normally, Sam would have woken him up to get him into bed. This time he didn’t. Instead, he found a notebook and scribbled a brief letter, which he propped against the screen closest to Ash’s face. Throat closing at all he was leaving behind, Sam ghosted a hand over Ash’s hair. “Please don’t hate me for this, Ash,” he breathed. “At least try not to. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I’ve never deserved that.”

Grabbing a couple extra heavy shirts against the cold, Sam snuck back out to the shed. He rolled the motorcycle out to the road and further, giving it a good half a mile before he mounted it and started it up. Refusing to look back, he headed north.

The sun was high in the sky when he finally had to stop for gas. Once he’d paid, he took the opportunity to make a call. 

“Jake,” Meg’s voice purred. “You better have good news for me, lover.”

Sam shuddered, profoundly disgusted by the thought of laying with a demon, however pretty the package it was wrapped in. “Sorry, baby, Jake can’t come to the phone right now,” he drawled. “He’s come down with a pretty serious case of ‘dead’.”

“Who is this?” Meg demanded.

“My name is Sam. Sam Winchester. I understand that you’ve been looking for me.”

“Ooh,” she crooned, sounding more pleased than she had any right to. “Oh, Sam, you have no idea how badly I want to meet you.”

“Oh, I think I do. I have it pretty good authority that I’m not just powerful, but that I was also your dear departed dad’s favorite. I bet you want me on your side, don’t you? To really...get a lock on the top position over all the other demons.”

“Hmm,” she agreed. “I do. And it sounds like you aren’t completely opposed to the idea.”

“You think not? After you sent your daeva to shred my brother’s wife and ruined the peaceful life he’d made for himself?” Sam laughed bitterly. “Baby, normally I’d be hunting you down to put you down. Instead, I want to make a deal. Since you have something that I need, and I have something you need.”

“And what’s that?”

“I want you to bring Cassie back. Bring her back, and make it so that no one remembers she was ever dead. Can you do that?”

“I didn’t crawl out of the pits yesterday, Sam. Of course I can. Well,” she qualified. “Those irritating little tattoos so many of you kids have gotten will keep me from fixing their memories. But big brother never got one, and neither did dear old daddy. They won’t remember, which is all you really care about. But what can you offer me in return?”

“Me,” Sam told her simply. “My willing obedience to you, plus the Colt that you need to open the Devil’s Gate. You’d have me leading your army, just like your father wanted, at your command. And all you have to do is give my brother his wife back, and keep them safe. They get to live out their lives untouched. How’s that sound?”

“Too good to be true. How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“You don’t, I guess. But if you’ve learned anything at all about me, you’ll know that Dean is the most important person to me. I’ll do anything for him, including work for you, to make him safe and happy.”

“You’re such a soft touch, Sam. Alright, it’s a deal. You bring me the Colt and yourself. Once I have both, I’ll bring the dearly departed Cassandra Robinson Winchester back, make it so that no one remembers she was ever dead, and extend to the family my protection. How’s that sound?”

“You’ve got a deal. As a gesture of good faith...the Colt is in South Dakota. I’m headed there already.”

“At that junkyard,” she snarled. “I should have known.”

“I’ll call you when I have it.” Sam snapped the phone shut and started the motorcycle. There was no going back now.

INTERLUDE

Dean woke when Jason started to cry. Groaning, he sat up, patting the mattress in search of the warm body that should have been there. Sam was gone, though, and it was only the marks left on his body and the overwhelming scent of sex that told him it hadn’t been an exceptionally vivid dream. He scowled for a moment before common sense kicked in; there were four people just yards away that couldn’t know about their relationship. Once in a while, it wouldn’t be suspicious for Sam to spend the night. But it wasn’t something they’d be able to get in the habit of. Until things settled down enough that Dean could afford to move somewhere else with Jason, this was how it was going to have be; stolen hours and Sam sneaking back to the house.

He got out of bed, donning the first pair of underwear that he found. He didn’t recognize them, which told him they were probably Sam’s. Grinning, he went in to fetch Jason. “Hey, little man. Why so upset, huh? It’s such a good day.” Laughing, he hugged his son, then laid him back down to change the sopping diaper that was causing the bulk of his son’s misery. When he was clean and dry, Jason’s cry changed tone to let the world know that he was hungry. Still laughing on and off to himself, Dean set out to get them both some breakfast.

The rice cereal that they recommended for babies was highly unappealing to Dean. But Jason seemed to love it, smacking his lips between bites, hands reaching to try to grab the spoon so he could get to the next bite faster. Dean was thankful that he never had an issue getting his boy to eat. He could remember Sammy being such a fussy baby....

With breakfast for the both of them accomplished, Dean buckled Jason into his swing, positioned right next to the hallway that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. He set the swing to moving, which set Jason to gurgling and cooing loudly. Loudly enough that, with the bathroom door open, Dean could hear him over the noise of the shower. Jason was only ever truly silent in sleep, and he wouldn’t be ready for a nap for a few hours yet. And he adored the swing, happily babbling just so long as the swing was moving. It took a shitty diaper or dead batteries to make him cry while he was in the thing.

He still kept his showers fast, not liking how vulnerable the necessary task left them both. When he was out, he dressed, once again donning his brother’s underwear. It was kinda gross, but he was getting off on it a little, and he was certain that Sam would too when he found out. He was just pulling on his shoes, getting ready to go up to the house for the day, when he heard someone pound angrily on his door. He scooped Jason up in one arm and snagged the Glock from on top of the television to answer the door. He stared nonplused at Ash, who glared furiously back and shoved his way inside. “Whoa there, pal. Who do you think you are...” Dean began.

“Jesse’s gone,” Ash snapped, shutting him up. “He’s gone, and it’s your fucking fault.”

“W-what? But Sam was here last night! We were talking....”

“Yeah, well, whatever you talked about didn’t change the fact that you blamed him for your wife’s death.” Ash waved a piece of paper at him. “He’s gone, and he’s left me with instructions. I’m supposed to head straight for the Devil’s Gate in Wyoming and do whatever I can to break the lock, make it so that it can’t ever be opened. And I’m supposed to shoot him the next time I see him.”

“That doesn’t make sense! Why the hell would he....”

“Because, you unbelievable idiot, he’s gone to make a deal with the demon that Jake was working for. He took that bastard’s cell with him, it’s the only thing that’s missing from the guy’s belongings. Her number was probably on there, since Jake wouldn’t have been able to communicate with her while on the property any other way.” Ash jabbed him in the chest. “He’s gone to make a deal to get your wife back. He’s gonna trade himself, and the Colt, so that you can go back to the apple pie life.”

“That’s stupid, Sam wouldn’t....”

“For reasons that I don’t have time to go into right now, he would. Will, actually, unless you go and stop him. Because believe me, you are the only person who can. No one else in the world has the influence over Sam fucking Winchester that you do.”

Scowling, Dean tucked the Glock into his jeans and snatched the paper from Ash’s hand.  
Ash,

man, I know you’re gonna be pissed. And I’m sorry, I know I’m about to ask you something incredibly selfish, not to mention hard. But Dean deserves better than what he’s got. Better than a freak of a consolation prize. So I’m going to fix things. But I’m afraid of what I’ll become, of how much damage I’ll do. So I need you to do two last things for me. I need you to head to Wyoming. You know the place. Try to find a way to jam that lock. Then, whether you’ve been able to or not, I’ll need you to shoot me. Right in the heart, no hesitation. You’ll have to take me down fast and hard and permanent. I’m sorry, I really am, but I have to do this. I hope you’ll understand. I hope you’ll be able to forgive my selfish ass.

Your (rotten) friend, 

Jesse

Dean dropped the letter, grabbed his coat and his keys, and dashed out of the trailer to the house. His father was in the kitchen, doing the dishes from breakfast. “Dad, I need you to watch Jason for me for a few days. Sam’s gone, he’s going to do something incredibly stupid, it’s my fault, and I have to stop him.” He handed Jason over, kissing his wrinkled little forehead. “Love you, baby boy. Your old man’s gotta go get your uncle,” he whispered.

“Hang on, Dean. What are you talking about? What is Sam going to do?” John demanded, fumbling a little to get a good hold on Jason.

“I don’t have time to explain. I’ve got to go.” Dean rushed out, ignoring the questions John, and Ellen and Jo, threw at him. Who knew how much of a head start Sam had? “You know where everything is in the trailer,” he called over his shoulder as he dashed back out the door. As he climbed behind the wheel of the Impala, he could only be thankful that there was someone that he trusted to look after his son. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he didn’t, he if had to choose between his son and his brother.

~

Sam pulled up outside of Bobby’s place, eyes scanning what he could see of it. It hadn’t changed much, from what he could see. Still a ramshackle house surrounded by junk, encircled by a chain link fence. Only thing was, the fence was now topped by a hodgepodge of wrought iron decorations, obviously salvaged and reused to make the property unavailable to the demonic set. Plain, sturdy bars, mixed in with fanciful curlicues, mixed in with wicked looking spikes. Sam snorted, beyond amused.. It was very Bobby. It also wouldn’t keep Sam out. 

He got off his motorcycle to push open the gate, then pushed the bike through. It rolled over a slight bump, and he looked down to see a railroad tie stretching between the fenceposts. A sensible precaution, since the line of iron would otherwise break with the gate open. Once he had the gate closed behind himself, he strode up to the house, thunder sounding in the distance. “Fucking storms,” he muttered. “Fucking rain.” He passed Rumsfeld’s doghouse, wondering for the first time what Bobby did with the dog when he was on the road like he had been. Not that it really mattered.

Had Sam not known Bobby for years, the house would have been nearly impossible to break into. Bobby had very good security, which included more than a few booby traps. But Sam did know Bobby, knew his house, and therefore knew that the only door that was safe to use–once you managed to get the five, very expensive locks open–was the one that led into the old fashioned cellar. Breaking a window would only land him a face full of buckshot. Or, if that somehow missed, a very unpleasant curse. Bobby was no fool.

On the other hand, once he’d made it safely inside, it was a relative cakewalk. The salt, iron, and protective sigils strategically placed had no effect on him. He began to search for the Colt. He opened his senses in an attempt to feel it out. That turned out to be an exercise in futility, since nearly every book and funky little object in the place vibrated with supernatural energy, some so dark it made his guts twist, some incredibly light, and some somewhere between the two. The mixture of them all dropped him to his knees, hands fisted in his hair, until he could get his ability turned off. He would have to search out the Colt the hard way. 

Four hours later, he found it. In the bathroom, in a hole in the vanity, wrapped in rags inside a plastic bag to protect it from moisture. Sam had found the two ringers already, each one just as cleverly hidden, just as difficult to find. But only the Colt hummed beneath his fingers, even with his senses clamped down tight to keep him from going nuts.

He took it out of its protective coverings and checked it over, as much from habit as anything else. There was dust and lint inside the barrel, and it was pretty much second nature for him to find Bobby’s supplies and clean it quickly. His hands shook a little as he did, knowing there wasn’t much point in what he was doing. The gun wasn’t likely to ever be fired again.. Not unless Ash waited for him at that cemetery and took it from his lifeless hands....

Shunting such thoughts away firmly, Sam pulled out Jake’s cell and called Meg again. “I found it,” he told her simply.

“I’ll meet you outside.” Meg hung up on him, as though the whole thing were one giant annoyance rather than the realization of all her efforts to gain power.

Scowling, Sam stomped outside, right up to the gate. A minute or two later, Meg came strolling up out of the darkness, feet squelching in the mud left behind by the storm that had come and gone while Sam was ransacking Bobby’s house. Sam displayed the Colt for her, allowing a little smirk to lift his lips. “I’ve got it. Now, I think you should hold up your end of the deal.”

“Hand it over first, Sam.”

“No. That’s not the way this works. The gun and I are a package deal. And if I don’t see you living up to your end of things, I’m going to walk, and take it with me. You can double cross everyone else as much as you like, but I’m not stupid enough to trust you blindly.”  
Inky blackness flooded normally pretty eyes, and lush lips thinned with her fury. “You think pretty highly of yourself for a jumped up freak of a human. Do you really believe you’re that valuable to me?”

“Oh, yes. I was meant to lead that army that’s waiting on the other side of that door. You really think any of the poor fucks that you’ve conned, bullied, or terrified into serving you could do half as well as I could?” he sneered. “We had a deal, Meg.” He leveled the gun at her. “Stop trying to jerk me around.”

Meg opened her mouth to reply. Headlights split the night before she could finish the first word, and the rumble of a powerful engine drowned out her voice. Sam lowered the gun, more out of confusion than any sort of fear. He only knew of one car that sounded like that, but it just wasn’t possible....

The Impala rocked to a halt just feet from where the two of them stood on either side of the iron barrier. Dean got out, sharp eyes noting the inky black eyes raking over him. “Sammy, don’t do anything stupid,” he warned, rounding the front of the car with a clear plastic bottle of water in his hand. 

“Dean, don’t. Just go home, okay? By the time you get there, everything will be okay. Just let me handle this.”

“No! No, Sam, I’m not letting you do shit. You do this, and nothing will ever be okay again. You don’t know... you don’t understand. You’re wrong about what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, nice,” Meg sneered. “I can’t figure why you’d care so much about him, Sam. The way he treats you, bossing you around, insulting you, telling you you’re wrong all the time.”

“Shut up,” Sam snapped at her. “You don’t get to talk about him.”

“Sammy,” she wheedled, all evidence of her earlier attempt at controlling him gone. She stepped a little closer, right up against the barrier. “I’ll keep my end of the deal. I’ll bring her back, him and his little white picket fence family will be safe as houses if that’s what you really want. You’ll be better off with me. You’ll get the respect that you deserve, for once.”

“Oh, bitch, you don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Dean drawled. She turned a little snarl on him, and he flicked the bottle–the now open bottle–at her, making her hiss and recoil as the holy water burned her. “Sammy,” Dean started, low and intense. “Just tell me why you think you gotta do this? Please, man.”

“Are you kidding me? You said it yourself, it’s my fault she’s gone. You loved her,” he said, swallowing hard. “You loved her, Dean. All I want is for you to be safe and happy, and that’ll never happen if I don’t do this.”

“That will never happen if you do this,” Dean corrected. “I cared about her, Sam. But I wasn’t in love with her. Not the way you think I was. I was planning to leave her when she told me she was pregnant.”

“But...you miss her,” Sam said, voice childishly small even to his own ears. “You said you miss her, and you sounded so devastated when you called me and told me she was dead. You left me for her. You must be in love with her.”

“I wasn’t. I’m not. I cared about her, but I started to hate being around her pretty quick. But you were gone, and for all I knew, I was never going to see you again. So I tried to make the best of it, until just the sight of her was making me grind my teeth. I decided to leave...and I think she knew it. Cassie hated to lose, and she got so much shit for marrying a guy she hadn’t known all that long that getting a divorce would have felt like failure to her. I’m pretty sure she got pregnant on purpose.”

“But the things you said the other day....”

“I was drunk and feeling guilty, Sam! I’ve already told you, I didn’t mean a word of it.”

“Sure you did,” Meg said sweetly. “You meant every word of it.” Smiling viciously, she paced over towards Dean, hips swaying. “You blame him for you mother and your childhood, for the way your dad is and for losing your wife. Hell, you’ve even wondered if the...unnatural feelings you have for Sam are his fault, tainted as he is.” Dean splashed more holy water in her face, making her reel back with a bitten off scream.

“Shut your lying mouth, bitch. Sammy, please.”

Sam backed up a couple steps, scrubbing his head with his empty hand. “I don’t get it, Dean. If you never really loved her...why did you leave me for her? I thought you loved me, I was sure we’d be together until we died, but then you left me. If it wasn’t because you loved her more than me....”

“Sam...I thought I was holding you back.” Sam gaped at him, mind not really able to absorb such a ludicrous statement. “You were different after we killed that yellow eyed sonofabitch. Darker. Clingy. You didn’t argue the way you used to, you didn’t...you went along with whatever I wanted to do, like there wasn’t anything you wanted for yourself.” Dean shifted, licking his lips. “It was nice at first. I liked the way you seemed to need me so much, and I figured you were just feeling weird after finding out about the demon blood. But you didn’t really get better, and the longer it went on, the more sure I was that...you were really only with me because you were afraid I’d leave you otherwise. I was sure it wasn’t what you really wanted.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Sam said flatly. “When have I ever done anything but what I’ve wanted?”

“Damn it, Sam, I’ve figured out that I was wrong, okay? But at the time...and you didn’t even finish highschool! Dude, you loved school. I thought it was just a matter of time before you went back to get your degree, but you never did. You had a full ride to college that you threw away, Sammy! You wouldn’t have applied if you didn’t want to go, but after that whole thing...you never even mentioned it. You were just darker, desperate almost, and it scared me. So I...I went with Cassie. I thought, if I went first, you’d be okay with going after what you wanted, instead of following along with what I wanted.”

“So you left me, lied to me, married her, for my own good? Is that about the gist of it?”

“Um...yeah. Pretty much. You make it sound so stupid when you put it like that, but I really thought it was for the best.”

“You thought, you thought,” Meg mocked. “Sam, you are so much better off without him. Let’s finish this, and you’ll never need to deal with any of his shit again.” 

Dean splashed her again. “I’m not telling you again! Keep your mouth shut!”

“That is it! I’m done playing nice,” she snarled. With a flick of her fingers, Dean went flying back, crashing against the hood of the Impala hard enough to rock the car. Sam brought the Colt up instantly, snarling a wordless warning at her. “We had a deal, Sam. You and the gun, and Dean can go play happy families with his wife and brat. Now you either keep your end of the deal, or Dean here goes to the top of my hit list. That whining little spawn of his, too.”

“Wrong tactic, bitch,” he hissed, drawing the hammer back. Her eyes widened with sudden, shocked fear, and her mouth opened. She relinquished control of the body as she chose in that instant to escape, and it was that which saved her life. Sam aimed for her leg rather than her heart or head and pulled the trigger. Blue-orange lightening danced over the woman’s body, drawing an inhuman scream from the thing escaping out of her throat. Meg–all human Meg–collapsed to the ground as the demon that had been inside her raced away. Injured, certainly, the bullet had penetrated before it had fully left the body, but not dead.

Gun tucked into his jeans, Sam hurried to his brother. “Dean? Dean! God, are you alright?” He ran frantic hands over Dean’s unmoving body, fear making him go cold at the dent he could see in the Impala’s hood. The car was made out of steel. It took a lot to dent it, which meant that Dean had to have hit with some serious force. But his heart was beating within his chest, and his chest rose and fell with his breaths. After a few moments of Sam patting his cheeks, he came to with a jerk, then clutched at his ribs with a groan. “You okay? You need a hospital?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean croaked. “She dead?”

“No. Just...gone, for now.” Sam helped him to right himself, taking the opportunity to feel the back of his head for injury. There was a lump growing, but no blood. Dean would have a headache, and had probably gotten his back bruised up, but nothing worse. And nothing either of them hadn’t had before. “Were you serious, Dean?” he asked quietly. “You really thought I was only sleeping with you because I was afraid you’d leave me if I didn’t?”

“Yeah, man. You’d always wanted normal so badly, wanted out of hunting. You did such an about face, and your whole temperament had changed so much, and when you didn’t seem to be getting back to normal...I couldn’t help BUT think that.” Dean cupped his face with both hands. “I’m an idiot. I am more sorry than I can say, and I’ve missed you so much, Sammy. I’ve regretted that choice every single day since I made it. I...can’t say I would do it differently, though,” he said with obvious reluctance. “I wouldn’t have Jason then, but God, Sam....”

“I think I get it. I...wish I could be angry with you over it. But the truth is...there’s a lot I never told you. If I had, you’d have understood why I was the way I was. So this whole thing is at least half my fault.”

“Um...e-excuse me?” a weak voice called. “I need some help.”

“Shit!” Sam whirled and dashed over to the fallen girl, falling to his knees beside her. “I’m sorry, shit, you’re shot. I shot you. Are you hurt anywhere else?” He started to pat her down, looking for any other, life threatening injury. He heard the creak of one of the car doors before Dean was dropping down on her other side, bulky first aid kit in his hands. Sam got her half propped against him to hold her still while Dean checked her leg. 

“N-no. Oh, God,” she said, voice breaking. “It’s been so long, almost a year, you don’t know the things it made me do. Oh godohgod!” She turned her face into his chest, tears rapidly soaking his hoodie. She didn’t even seem to notice Dean cutting the jeans she wore to pour antiseptic on the bullet hole, or the bandage that he wrapped tightly around it.

“Shh,” he crooned. “Shh, it’s alright now. You’re free. It’s gone, and we’ll make sure it never comes back. Shh.” 

“Sammy, let’s get her inside, I’m pretty sure we can deal with this ourselves. And I’m not sure she’s up to the questions a hospital would have.” Dean helped him get up with Meg’s sobbing form in his arms. She shuddered when they crossed the iron barrier, which left him wondering what kind of after effects such a long possession would have on her. He’d been sensitive to holy water for a couple days after Dean and Bobby had rescued him from the same demon. And that had only been a week. 

Once inside, they got her set up with some painkillers and whisky, a fast acting combo that would make the process of digging out the bullet easier on her. It didn’t seem to help her primary hurt at all, though, as she kept sobbing into Sam’s chest. Sam held her tightly while Dean did the operating. Fortunately, his aim had been true, and the bullet had gone into the muscle of her thigh, missing any major arteries. It was relatively simply to dig it out and stitch her up. Sam encouraged more booze down her throat, knowing that oblivion, natural oblivion rather than the forced darkness that a demon could impose, was probably the best thing for her right then. 

When she finally passed out, they got her laid out on the couch, blankets tucked in tightly around her. Sam straightened, eyes going to Dean, all his uncertainty shining in them. It was reflected back at him, telling him that Dean didn’t know any more than he did what to do. In spite of what he’d said earlier, Sam thought he ought to be angry. It was so incredibly stupid, what Dean had done. What he’d put them all through, when all he would have had to do was say something. Express his fear in some way. But he’d missed Dean so badly and for so long, he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. Not when it seemed like he could get Dean back. For real, rather than simply feeling like he was his brother’s consolation prize. “So now what?” he forced out.

“That’s up to you, Sammy. I want you back, but...” Sam cut off whatever else he would have said by the simple expedient of walking into his arms and kissing him. Dean groaned into his mouth and clutched at him, making his ribs–nowhere near healed after his recent fight with Jake-protest. Sam clutched back, making Dean hiss as his recently bruised back protested. They loosened their grips on each other, pulling back to laugh ruefully.

 

EPILOGUE:

The demon formerly known as Meg was in hiding. She was a seething mass of rage and hate, but she was wounded. Weakened. She didn’t dare make herself known, most especially to her own kind. They all would have felt the moment that accursed bullet ripped into her, almost destroying her, and stripping her of much of her hard-won power. They’d be on her like a pack of rabid dogs if she showed herself. Never mind how she’d helped most of them claw their way out of hell; loyalty didn’t mean anything if you didn’t have the ability to enforce it.

She was going to kill him. That one. The Chosen. But first, she was going to make him suffer as never before. She’d kill the brother first, slowly, then the brother’s spawn. The father...oh, that one would be fun to play with first. What he’d already done under the influence of a weak little bottom feeder was too delicious for words. Even though the brother didn’t know the cause, he’d seen the effects on both of them. The Chosen would get to relive that, over and over again. It was perfect in the way it would torment the both of them.

But first, she’d have to regain her strength. A nearly impossible task. It had taken her half a millennia to become strong enough to control the army her sire had built. Only an instant to lose all of that. It would take something truly incredible to take her place back before another usurped her. She had to act quickly.

Her mind drifted to the woman that awaited resurrection. So certain had she been that the Chosen was in her grasp that she’d already reconstructed her body. But a deal had to be in place for a resurrection, or it simply wasn’t possible. But who....

The answer was so obvious. The mother. Even now, months after her daughter’s death, the woman hadn’t moved beyond the almost paralyzing grief. She sneered at such weakness, even as she reached out to the woman’s sleeping mind. “Irene,” she whispered. “Do you love your daughter? Do you miss her?” Irene Robinson’s whole being cried out the affirmative. “What would you give to bring her back?” 

Irene tossed her head restlessly in sleep. With the brandy sedative dulling his mind, Martin never stirred. Even when she mumbled in her sleep, “anything. anything. Cassie...”

“One year,” she whispered. “One measly year off your life, and I can bring her back. Do you agree?”

“Yes! Oh, yes, anything....” Irene begged.

Deal made, Meg took the year’s worth of lifeforce from her, shortening her remaining natural time to a span of mere months. Grief and stress had taken a toll, and her heart wasn’t as strong as it should be. It was a poor deal by her usual standards, but it served her needs. It strengthened her enough that she had the power to bring the wife back to life, jolting upright in the empty nursery where her son no longer slept. At once, she was flooding the wife’s mind with illicit knowledge of her husband; how he hadn’t ever loved her, how he’d used her, the truth of his relationship with his brother. Coming hard on the heels of her last memory, which was of the pain of being ripped apart, she was more than vulnerable. Her sense of betrayal was nothing short of a fine wine, and the hatred and desire for revenge that came hard on betrayal’s heels the most decadent of desserts. “Join with me,” she offered. “Become one with me, and together, we will make them pay.” 

The wife agreed. She flowed into the woman, fitting herself into every nook and cranny, feeling her power surge to heights she had only dreamed of before. No wonder father had never given up his willing host, aged and boring as he had been. A willing host, truly willing, made you so much stronger than you could ever be any other way. She could spend a millennia building and hoarding her power and never come close to what she had now. Cassandra could feel her exultation and echoed it, reveling in the power that was hers as well. Their eyes opened in the dimness, glowing bright orange. And they smiled.


End file.
